


Silly Boy

by contemporarydreamer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:02:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3499442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contemporarydreamer/pseuds/contemporarydreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"God, get off me, you giant octopus. Don't know why Waliyha puts up with you." </i>
</p><p>  <i>"Hey," Harry whines, "there are a lot of reasons. I'm good looking, for one." Zayn snorts. "Two, I'm a good kisser." </i></p><p>  <i>  "Doubt it." </i></p><p>  <i>  "It's true," Harry widens his eyes, "ask her!" </i></p><p>  <i> "I absolutely will not," Zayn slurs, "ask my sister how her boyfriend kisses." </i></p><p>    <i> "Fine, then," Harry grumbles and surges forward to show Zayn himself. </i></p><p> </p><p>High school au where senior Harry thinks that he’s madly in love with sophomore Waliyha Malik and tries to win her with cheesy attempts, only to meet her painfully beautiful protective brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waterfallen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterfallen/gifts).



> Waterfallen, I hope I did what you wanted with your prompt, I had a bit of a tume crunch, so, sorry about that. I hope you like it! Thank you to everyone who helped me with this! It's been a struggle and a pleasure, and I have not lived since the first day I began the outline, but it's done now and I'm infinitely proud. 
> 
> Special thanks to my school friends, my lovely marauders, and my delightful beta, G.

Much as Harry tries, he can’t find it in himself to worry about the first day of school. He’s spent years and years building his confident exterior, with the help of blushing girls and persuadable teachers, of course. He’s well aware of the power he has over any room he walks into, thanks to his “lush curls” and “suave walk” and, honestly, who can resist his “gorgeous green eyes”? Harry knows he’s smooth, but he most definitely does not abuse his power. He loves and respects girls, first and foremost, because he was raised to appreciate the softness of their curves and the eloquence of their speech (“Harry, if I ever hear about you disrespecting a girl I promise I won’t be through with you until you’re half girl yourself”). He doesn’t have a confidence problem because he knows he shouldn’t, he knows new girls will be fawning and old girls will be sighing, and who is he to reject female attention? 

So, with that in mind, he explains to his mother over Chinese takeout, why he’s not looking for anything serious in his senior year. He’ll have fun with a few girls, if the opportunities come, but he should really focus on his grades and his extracurriculars (and getting the sixpack that he promised his thirteen year old self all those New Years resolutions ago). 

“Extracurriculars? What extracurriculars?” Anne asks with a skeptical look on her face.

“Oh, you know, résumé builders, UNICEF, maybe environmental club or something of the sort.”

“Well love, don’t actually do any of that stuff unless you want to. You know that, right? Don’t make your last year of high school a drag. Don’t forget to live!”

He sighs. “I know, Mom, I know. That’s why I’ll be having a fun romantic life.”

“Fun?” The skeptical look is back.

“Yeah, like, I just don’t want to settle down. I want to live, remember?”

Before Harry can even take a proper breather, Anne is engulfing him in a hug that replays vivid childhood memories of comfort after scraped knees and bad dreams in his mind. “My little baker boy’s all grown up and a player! Who would’ve thought? Just promise me you’ll treat ‘em well, right?”

Harry’s face softens as he wraps his arms around the mother that he loves so much, that’s raised him to be the sweet boy that he is, who will never let him forget the summer he spent working at a bakery two years ago. He kisses her cheek once, then again for good measure. “I know, Mom,” he reassures. He does. He knows to appreciate girls and to appreciate his mom and to appreciate life because some people have it worse than them, and some people don’t have a mother or a father, and this world is so unfair for women, and every other phrase his mom has pounded into his head, so with a heart full of respect for caring, gentle Anne, he kisses her once more and tells her he’ll take care of the trash and dishes. 

“Thanks, love. And don’t forget to get a proper rest for your first day of the last year of Hell!” 

Once he’s finished, he goes to his room and flops down on the bed, nearly missing his phone buzzing. He opens a text from Josh, his pal from school. He unlocks his phone and reads the message:

 **Josh: 9:32pmM** _Styles. Throwing a party this Friday. Celebrate the new school year. You in?_

**Harry: 9:33pm** _Who’s coming?_

**Josh: 9:38pm** _It’s a free for all. As long as Ash is there, I don’t really care._

**Harry: 9:40pm** _What, you haven’t fucked her yet?_

**Josh: 9:42pm** _No, but believe me, I plan to ;)_

 

● 

 

Harry walks into school on the first day of senior year with exact confidence he knew he would have, and the exact results he’d anticipated. He doesn’t have rippling muscles, or the potential to be president, but boy does he have charm. People love Harry Styles. People would follow Harry to war, that’s how charming he is. Girls blush and giggle, guys greet him with fist bumps and “bro!”s, and all is as expected in Harry Style’s world. 

Harry knows he’s smart, cunning, sweet, can get away with anything. He also knows he’s nice. He is a sweet boy, so many people tell him. While he’s been in countless beds and under countless skirts, he’s also had his fair share of comforting heartbroken girls, consoling friends, bringing flowers and coffee and sandwiches just out of the goodness of his heart. Harry is a good person, he knows he is. He has good intentions and (mostly) good friends, and he’s not worried at all for his last year of high school. In fact, he does the opposite of worry; he sits back in his proverbial lounge chair and lets it flow by. 

“So anyway, about the party on friday…” Josh whispers in AP economics an hour later. “I heard Ash is the type to want to get to know a guy before she sleeps with him, so like. What’s up with that?”

“I know. Girls having standards for themselves is the worst.”

“Right?” Harry narrows his eyes and looks for any sign of joking in his friend’s expression, but-

“Mr. Styles? Chatting on the first day of class?” It was going too well. 

“Oh, no, Ms. Mitchell I was just-”

“You were just.”

“...Right.” The class chirps out a laugh. 

“So I’m sure you were talking about the curriculum and can tell me all about marginalism, then.” A proud expression takes over her face, as though she’s already won, but,

“Absolutely. It’s the process of analyzing the additional or incremental cost or benefits aris-”

“Alright, alright, Styles. You clearly know what you’re talking about. Just don’t chat during my class again.” 

“Of course, ma’am. Sorry again,” he says and flashes her his most innocent smile, evoking a small one from her. 

“Nice one, bro,” Josh mutters. 

“Shut up and take some notes for once, you fucker.”

 

● 

 

As per normal, Josh continues to talk about sex and the party all throughout lunch, until Louis interrupts him with a loud “OKAY”.

“Right, so I don’t think open invitation is a good idea, for obvious reasons. We don’t want to whole school to show up,” he continues.

“Yeah, too many annoying fuckers that we’ve never seen before will come,” Niall adds. 

“So we should invite people who we know, people who are known to be fun at parties, and hot chicks?” Josh asks.

“Sure,” Louis continues with a nod and an eyeroll, “so who specifically? All of us, obviously. But other people, fun people, good partiers, good kissers, who are we thinking? What about that kid Liam? You used to hang with him, yeah, Niall?”

““Yeah, he’s a good time. Always busy showin’ the new kids around, but I bet he’s the same.”

Harry recalls Liam. He remembers him being nice. Smiley, thoughtful. He did always have a knack for taking in the underdogs or the new kids, though. 

“But seriously, guys. I’ve wanted to sleep with Ash for like two weeks now and she won’t even-” Josh starts again but Louis silences him with a balled up napkin to the face. 

“She’s too good for you and you know it, you doof.”

“Well duh, but that won’t stop me from trying…” 

“Was that the bell or does my brain start ringing every time you say something stupid?”

“Stupid? Have you seen her boo-”

“Later, Josh.”

 

It’s funny that Harry is able to maintain such confidence, because he is most definitely going to be late to French. Absolutely. No doubt about it. The hallways are clearing up as he speeds through them and past classroom after classroom, and he’s actually not even sure where he’s supposed to be, which is part of the problem, because he showed up to where French class was last year only to be told in Spanish where he’s supposed to be this year, so. 

It seems he’s the last one left in the hallways, until he hits another body, some kid with a black denim jacket--all he notices is a skinny body, probably a lower classman--and his books go flying. He hears some apologies but fuck, that was so embarrassing, so he mumbles out a “no problem!”, picks up his books--a flash of tan hands--balances himself again, and dashes off too quickly to even see his perpetrator’s face. 

Luckily, he’s Harry Styles, so being late to class isn’t the end of the world. 

 

● 

 

It’s been a week. The party came and went. His mother’s voice echoes in his head as he sits with his friends, reminding him to have fun and to remember to live and to enjoy every moment, but it seems that the school is living in the moment more than he is because it’s talking about his latest hookup, at the party, and he can’t even remember who it was with. 

“Was it Margaret?” Louis asks in a hushed tone over the picnic table. 

“Nah,” Harry replies, nonchalant as ever, “she definitely wasn’t blonde.”

“Phoebe?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Young man,” Louis scolds in his best maternal voice. “How are you not ashamed of yourself? Don’t even remember who you get with.”

“Don’t be too surprised, Lou,” a full-mouthed Niall tries to say. “You should be used to it by now. Who doesn’t want Haz?” 

Harry starts to grin, but Niall continues. 

“Just so proud of my little son, so popular with the ladies…” Groan. 

Harry can’t say he doesn’t love his friends, though. They’re there when he needs them, and he’s there when they need him. He’s been best friends with Niall and Louis since junior high soccer, when he realized the world wasn’t ready for his athleticism yet, and with Josh since freshman year of high school, when he really and truly began to appreciate girls. Not that he appreciates them in the same way that Josh does, but it is nice to have him around. Now, he insists on walking past the gymnasium. Harry won’t ask, but there’s no doubt that Josh wants to watch the volleyball tryouts, which, ”Josh, really?”, but he doesn’t have the energy to decline and deal with a fussy Josh. 

They sit down on the highest row of seats on the bleachers, and while Harry at least pulls out his English homework to occupy himself, Josh doesn’t bother trying to be discreet. Harry nudges him, murmurs, “don’t be too conspicuous, ya tit,” but to no avail. 

“Man, girls are great,” Josh says in awe. 

“Aren’t they.” Harry doesn’t look up. 

“You’re not even watching, how would you know?”

“I actually expand my horizons past ogling girls in tight sports uniforms. You should try it sometime.”

“Hey,” he whines, “I’m trying with Ash! But it’s hard to focus with all these other beauties…” he trails off. 

Harry sighs and finally looks up, and spots a girl he hasn’t seen before. Wait. 

“Hey, who’s that?” he asks, suddenly interested. She has a cute figure, especially in the uniform. She turns around so he can see her face as she smiles at her friends, and it feels so long since he’s seen a smile like that. He nudges Josh to hurry up and tell him. 

“You haven’t seen her?” Josh asks incredulously. “That’s Waliyha. Hot new sophomore. The only lowerclassman who’s bound to make it onto varsity.”

“Oh,” Harry replies softly and watches her do a jump serve. 

Sophomore? He’s never been into age gaps. Not that it’s a huge age gap. In fact it’s perfect, he could show her around and talk to her about years to come and funny teachers and she’d laugh and hold his hand and…

“She’s pretty.”

 

● 

 

She’s even prettier up close, Harry thinks, as he approaches her at her locker the next day. She has long, dark hair that curls around her face and chocolatey eyes and a warm laugh that she gives her friends. He looks in her lockers and sees volleyball and UNICEF and Puppy Rescue stickers and he knows she’s too good for him, participating in all the things that he resolved to but never took the time to get himself involved in. He looks at her again, his stomach flips a couple times. He waits for her friends to leave and then he goes. He’s not worried. He doesn’t think he’s worried, at least. He’s done this before. He’s done this so many times. 

“Hey,” he says when he approaches her. She only half turns around. He moves to face her and smiles. 

“Hi,” she replies, unfazed. (What?)

“So you’re new here, yeah? Waliyha, right?”

She nods. 

“Right. Well I’m Harry. I could show you around sometime, if you’d like.” He moves closer, leans against the locker next to hers, puts on his best smirk. 

“Maybe. I think I’ve basically figured out the campus, though.” Oh. Right. That’s okay. He’s Harry Styles. 

“All of it?”

She nods again. 

“Even the little cafe down the road?”

She looks up, finally, blushes a little. Harry almost squeals out loud but (thankfully) catches himself in time. She shakes her head, slightly. 

“Perfect! I could definitely show you around there. I basically live there.”

She chuckles a bit before regaining her composure. 

“Yeah, maybe sometime I’ll let you.” He widens his eyes and she winks as she closes her locker and turns towards the exit. “See you, Harry.” 

Definitely not what he was expecting. Even better. 

 

● 

 

In face of her not falling in love with him within the first twenty seconds, like most girls do, he’s come up with a mental checklist. A game plan, if you will. He’ll find out her common interests and happen to be near them at all times, conveniently. He’ll get to know her. And then he’ll ask her out. He has been getting to know her. He took her out to coffee last week, finally, and learned she plays volleyball outside of school, too, and her favorite color (mint green, which Harry swears on his life is blue) and where she lived before she moved to California (New York). 

His mom thinks it’s absolutely “adorable”, how “dedicated” he is. He brings her coffee before school sometimes and stops by her locker and carries her bag for her, which he tells to Anne because he’s not crazy, right? He’s doing all the steps. Why hasn’t she fallen in love with him yet? Anne says “some girls just won’t like you, love,” which, okay, but, not an option, because he’s spent too much time around her gentle curls and her soft smile and her sharp cheekbones for her to be in the group of “some girls” who just won’t like him. He knows it’s working. He sees her blush and giggle, occasionally, he’s just surprised by how long it’s taking. 

She is clever, though, he’ll admit. In control. He likes that about her. He finds that in their (somewhat, almost) relationship, she lets things happen, rather than him. She lets him hold her hand. She lets him kiss her cheek, and bring her coffee, and stand in her presence, and give her rides home sometimes. It’s working. 

It’s working. It has to be. 

 

● 

 

Harry leans against the gym wall after volleyball practice, waiting for Waliyha. She walks out with the suave radiance he was sure only he had before he met her and he grabs her hand, pulls her to him. 

“Oh!”

“Hey,” he murmurs. She smiles up at him. 

“Hey, babe.” 

“Need a ride home?”

“Aw, really?” He nods, of course. He’d do anything for this sweet, clever girl he’s known for not even two weeks. “That would be nice…” He smirks. Of course it would. 

“But my brother’s going to… Or he thinks he is. And I don’t want to just leave. He doesn’t know you, and he’s quite…” She bites her lip. “I just don’t want him to worry. Thanks for the offer though.” She leans up and kisses his cheek, and he forgets about the whole situation. 

“What’d I do to deserve that?” Harry asks, playfully. 

She huffs out a tiny laugh and kisses his cheek again. “That’s for the coffee this morning.” She moves her lips closer to his mouth and presses a small kiss there. “That’s for offering to take me home.” She moves directly in front of him and gives him a mischievous look. “And this..” She stops talking and jerks her head around to look at the door.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I thought I heard something.” 

“Right. So, you were saying?” 

She looks around and chuckles again. “Haz, my brother’ll be here any minute.”

“This won’t take long,” he decides, courageously, and steps forward to kiss her. He almost sighs against her lips, he’s wanted it for so long. Her small hands come up to cup his face as he holds her waist. She’s so...so petite and delicate and lovely, but strong and sharp and brave, too, all at once. He knows she has him wrapped around her little finger, and he’s fine with it, completely. 

He breaks away to press little kisses on the side of her neck. 

“You know, we’ve got time. There are other things we can do,” he says into her skin. 

“Like what?” A voice behind him says. Harry jerks away, distances himself as much as he can, and turns around to face the voice. It’s the same boy in the dark denim jacket that he crashed into weeks before, but he’s no longer a blur. He has Waliyha’s same dark hair, styled up into a quiff, and the sharpest features Harry’s ever seen, like a less gentle version of his sister, all angles and judging hazel eyes and pursed lips. There's an eerie smile on his face, as though he wants Harry to continue speaking. Waliyha looks horrified.

“Go on, tell me. Tell me all the things you want to do to my little sister.” Harry’s jaw just about disattaches from his face, it drops so suddenly. 

“I’m. I,” he tries, helplessly. 

“Zayn, come on. Let’s go,” Waliyha says. Zayn doesn’t respond.

Harry tries again. “I, uh. Sorry. That didn’t. We. I’m Harry,” he holds out his hand to shake. 

Zayn doesn’t take it, just says “Cool,” then turns to Waliyha. “Let’s go.”

Waliyha flashes him an apologetic smile as they leave. 

So that’s her brother. 

 

● 

 

As a brother himself, Harry tries to be understanding. He realizes that Zayn is just looking out for his sister, that he loves and wants to protect her. He thinks about how Zayn looked at him when he gets home, and as he does homework and talks to his mom, and as he walks into school the next day, and he does understand that he now has to somewhat prove himself, show Zayn that he cares about his sister, he just wishes he didn’t have to. 

This time, when he approaches Waliyha, she doesn’t greet him with a kiss but looks at him urgently and almost apologetically. 

“Hey. What?”

“Don’t be mad, but,”

“What?”

“Okay this is so embarrassing but my stupid brother told my parents about you and they wanna have you over for dinner now sorry I didn’t mean for this to happen!” She rushes out in one breath. 

Harry is anything but upset. “Oh! No, it’s fine, it’s great!” He paces around a bit. “What do I wear? Fancy or casual or medium fancy or, like, casual and a half, or,” 

Waliyha laughs. “Don’t worry, I told them we’re not serious or anything. You don’t have to impress them.”

A balloon pops in Harry’s head. He smiles tightly and nods. “Exactly, right.” 

 

● 

 

With a complete disregard for Waliyha’s advice, Harry goes to Louis for help. Louis, surprising no one, is no help. 

“How am I meant to know what you should wear to impress her parents? Does it look like I’ve met her parents?”

“Lou, c’mon. What did you wear to impress Eleanor’s parents?”

“I’ll let you know when we have a formal dinner.”

“Okay. Have you ever had a formal dinner with just El?”

“Absolutely not. We’ve been bowling, if that helps.”

“Lou! What am I supposed to do?”

“Why don’t you ask Zayn? He knows his sister and his parents best, and you’ll still surprise her.”

“Ask Zayn? I’m not sure it’ll matter what my corpse is wearing but thanks.” 

“Oh c’mon, he’s just being protective. I would be the same if Lottie had a boyfriend.”

“Lou, she does have a boyfriend.”

“What?! Who is it?! Is it that Dalton fucker in her class? Fuck I’m so-what the fuck? Why the hell wouldn’t she tell me?”

“I wonder.”

 

● 

 

With no help from his friends, Harry goes to his trusting mother, instead. The dinner is in two hours and he's a nervous, stuttering mess. 

Anne ruffles Harry's hair affectionately and looks at him with unbelieving eyes. 

"My boy," she begins, "my popular ladies man! Smitten by a sophomore!" 

"Mom," Harry whines, "can you please.."

"How old is she? Fifteen? Sixteen? You haven't had a crush in years, and now you fall in love with a fifteen year old?" 

"Mom." 

"What does she look like? Blonde? Brunette?"

"Mom! "

"Alright, alright. Put on your black t-shirt and that black blazer I got you for your birthday. And black jeans. All black always looks good."

"Thanks mom, you're the best!" Harry exclaims and hugs her before dashing to his room. 

"Oh, and," he pops his head back out, "brunette." 

 

Somewhere in between squeezing on his jeans and styling his hair, Harry managed to convince himself that Zayn doesn't hate him. Now, as Zayn opens the door to the Malik Manor for him with a look of displeasure, he realizes that was a mistake. 

Zayn’s wearing a worn, grey t-shirt and sweatpants rolled up at the ankles. Harry, feeling overdressed and awkward, tries for a small smile and wave. 

“Hey!”

Zayn doesn’t respond.

“Zayn, right?” He offers a hand. Zayn doesn’t take it. He just rolls his eyes and steps aside so Harry can come in. 

Once inside the lovely, two story house, Harry can see that Waliyha’s parents are taking this event just as seriously as he is, if not more so. Waliyha’s mom spots Zayn with Harry and widens her eyes, pulls Zayn away, and whispers something to him fiercely. “Five minutes!” She hisses and pushes him towards the stairs. 

“Hi dear!” Her mother chirps when she reverts her attention back to Harry. He offers his hand but she hugs him instead. “I’m Trisha. It’s so nice to finally see you. Waliyha says you’ve been together for weeks now, but we only heard about you yesterday when Zayn mentioned you. Either way, we’re so happy to have you over. I hope you like curry.”

Harry immediately untenses. He already loves Trisha, the warmth and acceptance she radiates in all directions. She reminds him of his own mother, and at that he offers a genuine smile. 

“Thank you, ma’am. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. I can see where Waliyha get’s her beauty from.” 

Trisha laughs and leads Harry into the dining room. “I’m glad Wal’s found herself a gentleman.”

Waliyha’s dad makes eye contact with Harry then, and gives him a curt smile. 

“Nice to meet you, Harry. I’m Yaser,” he says and shakes Harry’s hand. 

Finally, Waliyha herself bolts down the stairs in a floral skirt and flowy white shirt. 

“Sorry I’m late! Sorry, my straightener, I don’t even-” She stops and stares at Harry. “Love your blazer, Harry.” She winks. 

Harry is sure he’s in love with her. He feels so alive in this moment, so calm and collected, but also absolutely buzzing with energy. He charmed the ‘hot new sophomore’, he charmed her parents, and he’s here, having dinner with them. He’s Harry Styles, and he’s with his gorgeous kind-of-girlfriend, and her wonderful parents, and her brother, who’s not in the room but also isn’t giving Harry an icy stare, so it’s not a complete loss. 

The table is already set and fumes from the curry and the bread waft all throughout the area. Harry smiles at the effort put in, really. The napkins are folded into triangles and are each spaced the same distance apart from the gold rimmed plates. The cutlery is straight and pristine looking, all on a champagne colored tablecloth. Trisha insists they get started already or the food will get cold, so Harry prides himself one last time for his current situation and sits down. 

“Sorry, sorry. I’m here,” a quiet voice murmurs behind him, and Harry turns to see Zayn. Except, he’s cleaned up. He’s wearing a dark, patterned shirt and navy jeans. His hair is down from his usual quiff but still away from his face, to the side, and it reaches his neck in small curls. He’s even wearing dress shoes. 

Harry can’t breathe for a second because Zayn looks so immensely different from how he’s seen him before. He's clean and neat and looks good, honestly, like he could be straight from a billboard. They hold eye contact, or Harry thinks they do, until Zayn rolls his eyes and sits next to Waliyha on a loud exhale. Waliyha clears her throat. Yaser speaks. 

"So, Harry, you're a senior, yes?" 

"Yes, sir," Harry answers politely. 

"So what colleges are you looking at?" 

"Oh, well I thought about UCLA for a while, but then I decided I might as well broaden my horizons, so I'm thinking about Berkeley, or UPenn."

"Hey, Zayn is looking at UPenn, too. He might as well get a scholarship, with the grades he's making," Trisha says. 

Harry looks at Zayn, but Zayn is looking at his mom with a fond expression. 

"You wish, mom. I've never even heard of UPenn offering full scholarships." 

"You'll see. With your talent, anything's possible." 

"So Harry, what are you good at?" Yaser presses on. 

Harry absolutely lights up. He loves talking about this. "Well I've always been good at math and science, but I'm not entirely interested in them as careers. I do enjoy economics, though, and I think I'm good at it so far. Um, I'm not sure what I'll major in yet, though..."

Zayn scoffs, then, "Don't worry about it, love," Trisha says. "We don't need to talk about that. Yaser, stop pressuring the boy!" 

Waliyha giggles. Zayn's eyebrows are raised at his dad. 

"So," Trisha, coming to be Harry's second favorite mom ever, "tell us some embarrassing childhood stories." 

Dinner goes by pretty quickly after that. 

 

● 

 

By the end of the night and his third plate of cherry pie, Harry is in love with Waliyha’s entire family. They’ve spent the entire night telling childhood stories and jokes, and discussing funny current events. When they've decide d they’ve had enough dessert, Yaser pats his belly and looks at the now untidy table, the dirty plates and the used napkins. 

“Zayn, love,” Trisha starts, “you’ll take care of it, right?” She offers him her best, most maternal smile. 

“I’ll help, Mrs. Malik,” Harry offers. 

“Perfect! Both of ya will do it together. Get the job done twice as fast. And please, call me Trisha. Mrs. Malik is too old! After all, I am just twenty-eight,” she winks.

Harry ignores his stomach churning as Zayn scowls and walks into the kitchen. They clean up silently. Actually, Harry tries to initiate conversation, asking Zayn about UPenn and his favorite subjects, and if he plays any instruments, but Zayn shuts it down relentlessly with eye rolls and huffs of breath. Finally, after numerous failed attempts, just when he’s about to give up, 

“Hey Zayn.”

Sigh. “What, Harry.”

“You know, I love pie. Your mom makes good pie.”

“I know.”

“Speaking of pi, what’s an opinion without three point one four?” Harry smiles, turning his face away from Zayn to hide it.

“Excuse me?”

He laughs, finally, “Just an onion!”

Zayn stares at Harry. He doesn't know if it's the nerves from the dinner, or being around Zayn-who he knows hates him, or if it's actually the joke, but suddenly Harry is laughing so hard his knees almost give out. After a couple of seconds, the corner of Zayn’s lip turns up into a crooked smile, but he immediately looks away and scoffs. 

“Hey, c’mon, I saw that!”

“Saw what?”

“You smiled! My joke was funny!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Admit it!”

“Your joke was shit, I was smiling at your laugh.” 

Oh.

Zayn clears his throat and looks away, mumbles something like “Uh, I mean..”, but Harry’s too quick to let an opportunity for friendship pass, so he nudges him, wiggles his eyebrows, and says, 

“Don’t worry. I tend to have that effect on people. My smile could stop a thunderstorm, don’t you think?”

Zayn rolls his eyes for the zillionth time that night and chuckles, looking lighter, almost relieved. “Yeah, you wish. Hand me the soap.”

 

● 

 

Afterwards, Waliyha offers to walk Harry out, but Zayn grabs Harry by the shirt before he can take hold of Waliyha’s hand, pulling him back into the kitchen.

“Hey, listen. I know you like my sister, but watch it. Seriously. She’s too good for you and you know it. At least take it slow or whatever. If you push her into anything she doesn’t want to do-”

“Zayn, I would never-!”

“Shut up. If you pressure her into doing anything she’s uncomfortable with, I’ll beat you to a pulp.” 

“...Perfect.”

 

● 

 

Harry, naturally, tells his mom all about the dinner, about how the Maliks seemed to love him, how Waliyha was smiling at him the whole time, how he even made Zayn smile. Anne goes off about how her boy is maturing, how he’s happily in love and making friends and being a good person all at once, and how she’s so proud of her baker boy, and all is well in Harry’s life. 

Until Zayn hates him again. 

It's not much, and he doesn't even know what he was expecting, but when he waves to Zayn and Zayn doesn't wave back, Harry feels a sense of loss, disappointment, sorrow--not to mention embarrassment. Zayn doesn't even give him the satisfaction of a frown, or an eye roll, but acts as though he's never seen him before. And it's not that Harry has a problem with Zayn not liking him, or acknowledging him, he just. Wishes that Zayn did like and acknowledge him. 

But he can ignore it, really, he can. It's fine. His somewhat relationship with Waliyha is going spectacularly--they kiss and hold hands and Harry goes over to dinner at her house and he drives her home sometimes. It's terrific, in fact, it's easy to ignore Zayn and his bad attitude by focusing on Waliyha and her long hair and mystical eyes that Zayn also has and, fuck. Why doesn't Zayn like him? He laughed at his joke! 

An eternity seems to pass by until Zayn speaks to him again. It's after school, while Harry's waiting in the gym for Waliyha to finish practice so he can drive her home. Zayn seems so have other plans when he meets Harry there. 

Actually, he doesn't so much meet Harry there, rather, Harry walks in on Zayn and Liam pressed up against the wall so close to each other they may as well be trying to morph into one body. 

"Oh!" He hears himself gasp before he can attempt to slip away. 

Zayn doesn't seem embarrassed. He sighs, mutters, "excuse me," as Liam leaves through the other door, then "what do you want, Harry?" 

Harry stands. Blinks. "Um. Sorry. I was just coming to get Waliyha. I'm taking her home today."

Zayn smiles a little. "You're not, because I'm actually taking her home, so. See you. Or not. Bye." 

Harry bites the inside of his cheek. "She asked me to," he tries again, his voice cracking a little. 

"I'm her brother. I can take her home." 

Harry sighs. "If this is about you and Liam, it's fine. I won't say anything." 

Zayn's attitude quickly takes a turn. "You think I give a fuck what you think of me? You're ridiculous, and you know what, stay away from my sister! She's gonna dump your ass anyway, if you can even call you fawning over her a relationship. Seriously, leave. She'd sooner spend time with a volleyball than with you."

Harry stands unmoving for a couple of seconds to process. He can feel his cheeks start to burn as he almost resigns and submits, but a force of cold energy sweeps through his body, then, ( _what the hell?_ , _how dare he?_ ) and he figures he's had enough too. "What the hell did I do to you? I have been nothing but good to your sister, to your family, to you! I don't know why you don't like me or what I did but could you at least fucking tell me so I stop wasting my time trying to be nice to a complete ass?" He's so overwhelmed, he realizes then, he's panting. He just wants to understand. 

Zayn doesn't say anything, just stares. That's fine, Harry thinks. He wasn't expecting anything more. He turns to leave. He doesn't want to be here, anywhere near Zayn or his bitter attitude. 

"Wait." Zayn says. 

Harry sighs. He doesn't want any more harsh comments or cruel insults. He doesn't even care about driving Waliyha home anymore, just wants to leave. He wants to push the door open and leave and not look back and not feel a tear prickling at his eye, but. He can't. He needs to take what Zayn will give him or it's over between him and Waliyha. He takes a breath and turns around, waiting. 

Zayn looks hesitant, strangely. There's an odd energy between them. 

"I. Sorry." Zayn's looking at the floor. "I've been an asshole. My sister's been with tons of bad dudes in the past, I just didn't want it to happen again. You're a good guy, I just wasn't expecting it." 

Harry shrugs, defeated. "Whatever."

Zayn steps forward, anticipating Harry's exit. "No, I mean. Let me help you."

"How can you help me?" 

"I know Wal, don't I? Better than you think you do, anyway. I can help you, you know," he offers a real smile for the first time in weeks, "win her over," he finishes. 

Harry doesn't believe it. "Really?" 

Zayn looks like a twenty ton block has been lifted off his shoulders. The cold glare has left his eyes, he looks almost innocent now. "Yeah, I mean. I owe you. I have been pretty terrible."

Harry laughs. "Yeah, you have."

It's a deal.


	2. Part II

For their first ‘session’, if you will, Zayn invites Harry over while Waliyha has a volleyball game. Harry can’t get over how strange it is, this sudden turn of events, how Zayn no longer hates him because of an intense, thirty second conversation. When he gets to the Malik house, Zayn opens the door again, in another sweatpants-and-old-t-shirt combo, but the difference in moods is unmissable. He looks soft and cozy, not angry and disgruntled, like before. He has a small smile on his face as he invites Harry inside, now comfortable with the knowledge that Harry likes his sister. His entire body looks different to Harry, now relaxed and at peace with its surroundings. Zayn’s tone is even gentler as he says “Hey”, Harry notices, in contrast with his previously harsh one. Harry likes this Zayn. 

“Hi,” Harry smiles, mirroring Zayn’s new kindness. 

“Right, so, you and my sister…”

Harry narrows his eyes, but smiles nonetheless. So Zayn does have a sense of humor. 

“Ok,” he continues, “so let’s go to her room so you can see a bit about her, because obviously all you know so far is that she plays volleyball and likes coffee.”

Harry snorts. “Not true.”

Zayn gives him a look. 

“A little true,” he mumbles, to Zayn’s amusement. 

They take the stairs up to the second floor, where her bedroom is, right next to Zayn’s. 

“Alright so, this is a little weird, so, probably don’t tell her this happened because she usually doesn’t even let me into her room. You’re just here for educational purposes,” he says, the protectiveness coming back a bit. 

“Yeah, of course, man,” Harry assures. 

Zayn nods and leads Harry through a door with a paper crown taped on it, Waliyha’s name written on it with black marker. He laughs to himself--of course she would. Inside, the furniture and artwork follows a black-and-white theme--black bed frame, white comforter, black desk, white walls, pencil drawings on white paper. The entire room gives off a certain coolness, a suave sophistication, that Harry sees in Waliyha herself more each day. 

"Right, so, first of all, stop being cheesy. Stop with the puns and breakfast and holding her books and stuff."

"Hey," Harry whines, "but that's nice! That's me being a nice person and a cute boyfriend!"

Zayn snorts. "You're not even officially dating, you idiot." Harry pouts and Zayn flashes what looks to be an apologetic smile. "But hey, it's the thought that counts, right?"

Harry scoffs. 

"But seriously. I know my sister, and I know she'd want you to be real with her, so do it."

"Right, right." Harry says, understanding. "What else?" 

"Okay, well. Look, she has a bunch of framed photos of her with extended family and stuff, so that shows how family oriented she is. So keep coming over for dinner, and ask her about us all the time. And look," he points to a pile of folded papers, "these are letters she writes to friends from New York. Letters, not texts, or anything virtual or cyber or whatever. She loves old fashioned stuff, so woo her with that." 

Harry nods vigorously. 

"And, yeah, be a nice person, she's totally into UNICEF and rescuing endangered species and stuff, so talk about that. And seriously, stop with the compliments and empty topics. Talk to her about current events, controversial stuff, even politics." 

"Right, yeah. I guess I have been pretty shallow."

"Don’t,” something in Zayn’s face changes. “She’s really a smart, smart girl. She went through a rough time back home. That’s why we moved here. She met this huge jerk, completely screwed her over. Everyone loves her though. She’s so intuitive, so thoughtful, sweet, intelligent.” It’s as though the entire lighting around Zayn has changed as he speaks about his sister with a look Harry has only seen his mother make at him. He's now someone light and loving and appreciative, and so fond of his family members, like Harry himself is. Harry can’t get enough. “She deserves the best.”

Harry feels so swayed he can barely speak. “Yeah,” he eventually murmurs. “Yeah. Thanks, man.”

Zayn himself looks a little taken aback, like he's surprised he revealed so much to someone he so recently disliked. 

Then, Harry starts laughing. "Nice," he says, picking up a drawing seeming to have been done by a first grader. 

Zayn cracks a smile, too. "Yeah, art's never been her strongest subject."

"I like how she still tries."

Zayn's laughing, now. "Yeah, it's always heartwarming to see people who clearly are lacking in that field keep trying."

He joins Harry, who's now sitting on her bed, staring intently at the drawing of a girl. "Hair, or blossoming branches?" He jokes. 

Harry adds on. "Eyes, or dangerously clipped toenails?" They fall back onto the bed. "And she's got a lovely pair of beetles crawling up the sides of her head." 

Zayn cackles. "Those are ears!" 

"Not human ones!" 

They bask in the few seconds together that they get, on the bed, laughing, then all at once Zayn's up and grabbing Harry. "She's home. We have to go," he hisses. 

Harry stands still. "Why? Doesn't she know we're here?"

She's now climbing the stairs and Zayn winces at every footstep. "No! C'mon or she'll kill us both," frantically. 

Harry doesn't have much of a choice, because Zayn yanks him out by the wrist, pulls him into his own room, and throws him on the bed. Zayn's panting as he plops down next to him. 

Because of some lucky alignment of the stars, Waliyha raps on Zayn's door when they're still flushed and panting. "Zayn?" She calls out, singsong voice. 

Zayn doesn't even respond, just huffs out a breath, when Waliyha opens the door. "Hey, so we won!" She stops, stunned. "Harry?" 

"Hey, Wal!" 

She furrows her eyebrows. "Hey? What are you doing here?" 

Harry opens his mouth, then closes it. 

"We were hanging out," Zayn says, his voice back. "I invited him over. We were just gonna do homework together, right Haz?" 

Harry's stomach seems to fill with liquid when Zayn says Haz. "Right, right." 

Waliyha looks as though she's witnessing the coming together of a stripper and a priest. "Okay... I'll just leave you two to it then. Go on and be buds, I'll just... be in my room..." 

Neither of them move after she leaves, until Harry snorts, "Buds?" 

Zayn chuckles, too. "Best friends, you and I." 

They stay silent for a while longer, then Harry says, "Well thanks again, really. I should get home." 

Zayn's eyes are closed on the bed. "You can't." 

"Why not?"

"We told her we're doing homework, she'll fig-" 

"You told her we're doing homework, mate-"

Zayn throws his arm out to slap him. "I was saving our lives!" 

"As if! What's so bad about being caught in her room?" 

Zayn opens his eyes and glares, a small smirk on his face. "Last time, she shaved like an inch of my hair off." 

"I thought you lived in New York. Doesn't that mean you each shared like one twenty square foot room?" 

Zayn barks out a laugh. "Time to refresh your stereotypes, LA boy." 

Harry grins and spreads himself out more on the bed. "So what homework do we have to do?" 

"What, you don't have any homework?" 

Harry shrugs. "Finished it all during lunch."

"Nice, I didn't know you were a nerd though." 

"Hey!" Harry reaches out to nudge Zayn. "Just preparing for UPenn. You should too, since we'll be roomies and all, yeah?" 

Zayn catches Harry's fist in his hand before he can hit him. "Definitely, yeah. Let's take all the same classes too, and sleep on the same bed, wear the same clothes."

Harry does a half heart with his hand, now holding back laughter, "friends forever." 

Zayn rolls his eyes. 

 

● 

 

Waliyha absolutely adores the fact that her brother and her (kind of) boyfriend are (kind of) friends now. And Harry was absolutely okay with acting the part of Zayn's friend, until he realized he didn't have to. He had grown used to complete ignorance from Zayn at school, but with that having come to an ultimate stop, he can't even remember what it was like before, when Zayn didn't greet him when passing by him in the halls, grabbing his elbow and saying, "Hey, Haz," with a grin, before asking if they’re walking in the same direction to class. 

He's grown used to nice Zayn now, the Zayn who saves him a seat at lunch and asks him if he wants to come by to do actual homework, since they are in the same grade, and all. Harry's definitely not complaining, since it grants him more time with Waliyha, to kiss and hug her and play with her hair (when she doesn't have late volleyball practice or a game, which seems to be everyday, so he ends up spending most of his time with just Zayn, now). 

Now, he’s on Zayn’s bed, Zayn himself in a chair in front of his desk, typing furiously for a history assignment. Harry’s done with his homework, almost always is before Zayn; Zayn waits until his eyelids are starting to droop before even considering unzipping his school bag. So he’s reading a book, one he grabbed at random from Zayn’s cramped shelf next to his bed. 

“Hey!” Zayn says suddenly, startling Harry.

“What?” Harry asks, with the same, feigned, enthusiasm. 

“I know what Waliyha would love,” Zayn gives a coy smirk, as though he has power over Harry with this sudden information.

“What’s that?”

“For you to hold her hand.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Hey, that’s really helpful--I’ll be sure to remind myself five weeks ago before I started holding her hand.”

“I know, I know you daft idiot, but do you do the thing? With your thumb?”

Harry puts his book down. Is there some universal thumb move that he doesn’t know about? “What thing?”

Zayn turns his chair all the way around and holds out his hand. Harry blinks. Zayn’s about three feet away from him, patiently waiting with an outstretched arm, and Harry would much rather continue reading this unheard of before series of short stories translated from German, but, for Waliyha…

He sits up on the bed and extends his arm out, makes the stretch, and puts his hand in Zayn’s. “My prince,” he says, dreamily. 

“Shut up. Now, watch carefully.” He grips Harry’s hand in his, and slowly, gently, starts to rub his thumb in circles over Harry’s skin. 

Harry scoffs. “Do you take me for a fool? Of course I’ve rubbed her hand, I’m not-”

“Wait, wait,” Zayn interrupts, holding up a finger with his other hand, “bonus points,” and he brings Harry’s hand up to his mouth to place a small kiss. 

“Oh.” Harry doesn’t mean to say it, to say anything, he’s just so surprised. “Oh,” he repeats, louder and more clear this time, as though to say _Oh, yeah, that makes sense, thanks_ , not _Oh, do that again_. 

Zayn’s still holding his hand, until he realizes, then drops it swiftly. “Yeah, I’m sure she’ll love that. Knock yourself out.” 

"So," Harry wiggles his eyebrows. "You and Liam. Does he hit you with suave moves like that? How's it going on that love train?" He says the last part with a deeper voice. 

Zayn suddenly looks nervous, but answers anyway, chuckling a little. "He... It's alright, yeah. Just trying it out."

"Oh, nice. I used to be friends with him."

"Yeah, he talks about you a lot." 

"Yeah?” Harry feels nervous, all of a sudden. "What does he say?" 

"Says you're a nice guy." Zayn shrugs. "That you've slept around a lot. Guess that's why I couldn't warm up to you." 

Harry's shoulders slump, his entire face falls. "What does that have to do with anything? So what if I've been with a bunch of people? It doesn't define a person." 

Zayn scoots his chair closer and speaks so quickly Harry almost can't decipher what he says. "No no-no! I just mean-I know it doesn't define you, I just, I know, or I used to know," he sighs, slows down. "I just know that some people who do sleep around are much more inconsiderate than you. Wal was with a lot of people like that, who completely screwed her over." 

Oh. "That's why she's not into dating?" 

"Yeah, I guess. Or maybe she heard about your reputation, didn't want it to happen again." 

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." 

"No, it's alright," Zayn punches him in the shoulder, "some good came out of it. Like, she started volleyball." 

"Yeah, I've seen her play."

Zayn scoffs. "Right, just to see her in her uniform." 

Harry slaps at his shoulder. "Hey!" 

 

● 

 

"So how's my sister?" Zayn asks one day after school from his spot on his bed. Harry's walking around his room, picking up and playing with trinkets and toys he finds in corners or on abandoned shelves. "Since you spend so much time with her," he adds sarcastically. 

"What do you mean? She's at a game."

Zayn looks up from his paper. "Harry, no she's not. She's in her room." 

Harry almost drops the framed photo of Yaser holding baby Zayn that's in his hand. "Wait. What." 

But Zayn laughs and shakes his head. "Just kidding, you should've seen your face." 

Harry only rolls his eyes, because Zayn's right; Harry doesn't spend enough time with Waliyha to be considered a good boyfriend, if he even is her boyfriend. In truth, he likes spending time with Zayn, being Zayn's friend. He finds a certain comfort in being liked by someone who once hated him, so he spends time with Zayn partly because he can't even believe Zayn likes him now. 

"So why are you even here?" Zayn asks, then. He's not trying to be rude, Harry can tell, he's just curious, but Harry doesn't even know what to say. _I think I like your company more than your sister's_? _I want to be friends with you? You're a really cool person and I want you to like me_? 

"I," he stammers instead, "it's just really convenient here, you know? For when Waliyha gets back from her games. Plus," he adds quietly, "hanging out with you is fun." 

"Aw babe, are you blushing?" 

It's such a small comment but it makes Harry smile so hard he almost throws the picture at Zayn for being so casual and collected where Harry can't. 

Zayn has a small smile on his face too and it makes Harry feel warm, this little bond they have between them. He doesn't want to be too weird about it, though, so he keeps looking around Zayn's room. 

"Hey, wait," he holds up a drawing he found under a pile of old homework, of Times Square in New York, "did you do this?" 

Zayn shrugs. "Oh. Yeah." 

"Wha-" Harry holds it closer to his face. "Zayn! This is amazing! Are you a millionaire yet? Is your work in art museums?" 

Zayn laughs. "Yeah, I wish." 

Harry looks around again, and suddenly they're everywhere, in all the spots Harry didn't think to look at twice; on top of his books on the shelf, pinned to the wall above his bed, under a book on his nightstand. He carefully picks up the ones on his shelf. They're all of people, young girls or boys, ballerinas and football players and sometimes just portraits with no context. 

"Holy shit," Harry breathes, "you are unreal." 

"Nah, just something I've been doing since I was a kid," Zayn says, casual as ever. 

"So, when are you going to draw me?" Harry smiles wide, showing all his teeth. 

Zayn doesn't look up from his work but grins. "Couldn't possibly capture your beauty, babe." 

Harry rolls his eyes and ignores the flush in his cheeks, and instead keeps talking. 

“So why do you do art?

Zayn pauses to think. “I dunno, I’ve always liked it, it comes naturally to me. It _is_ hard though, so I don’t do it as often as you may think. But I guess, I’m good with a pencil and a paper. I like what I can do, so, yeah, that’s why I draw." 

Harry looks at the drawing and doesn't know what to say. A small, prickling feeling grows in his stomach and suddenly he doesn't want to talk about this anymore, but then Zayn says, 

"What about you? What's your thing?" And there it is. 

Harry swallows. "What, my dick?" He asks, trying to distract Zayn. 

"Haz! I mean, your _thing_. Like my thing is art, I guess. I'm decent at it and I like to do it. What's your thing? Is it math? You seem the type to be good at math," he rambles on. "Maybe science. Maybe you'll be a doctor or something. Or no! History! I can see you writing a mean research paper." 

Harry can feel how red his cheeks are, he feels terrible. "I don't think I have a thing," he barely whispers. 

"What's that?" Zayn angles his body towards him, moves closer. 

Harry clears his throat. "I don't think I have a thing," he says, louder this time. 

Zayn doesn't say anything for a while, but he can see Harry fumbling with his hands, biting at the inside of his cheek no doubt. 

"That's not true," replies. 

"It is, though. My mom was good at languages and she tells me my dad was a genius at math and I don't know, I'm okay at everything, there's just not one thing that I'm, like, exceptional at..." He trails off, bitter about showing this crack in his confident exterior he's spent so long building. 

Zayn almost doesn't say anything. He's surprised that this is even happening because a few weeks ago, he would never have imagined popular, pretty Harry, Harry who was so loved by everyone, so respected and admired and fawned over, standing in his bedroom staring at the floor. 

Harry quickly looks up when Zayn doesn't reply. "It's not that I'm depressed about it or anything," he assures Zayn, "I'm fine with it. It's just kind of, you know. I wish I had a thing to pride myself in."

"It's not true though!" Zayn finally exclaims, looking more frustrated than anything else. "I mean, so what you're not the best at a specific subject, but you're good at all of them, I've seen your work! And it's not all about actual subjects! Everyone loves you, Haz, really!" This is more than Harry's ever heard him say, and definitely with the a passion never before seen. "You're so good at holding conversations and charming people and getting people to like you. I mean, it took you five minutes to win my parents over. It look like thirty seconds to get me to like you."

"What?" Harry looks up, smiling now. "When?" 

"When you told that stupid onion joke." 

Harry's mouth drops open. "But you still didn't talk to me after that!"

"Yeah, well. Denial. Wanted to preserve my sisters innocence for just a little while longer. Plus, the protective brother act was good fun." Zayn smirks. 

Harry scoffs--of course Zayn would. "Whatever, weirdo. You were totally missing out. Enjoy my company before the tables turn," he winks. 

The tables are so far from turning it almost makes him sick. 

 

● 

 

Harry’s asked out Waliyha to a movie tonight and he’s almost buzzing with excitement. They’ve kissed before, of course, but they haven’t gone further than that. Harry hopes to tonight, though. He hopes she'll wear a skirt so he can run his hand up her thigh and under it and make her blush red like her favorite lipstick and giggle for him to stop because they’re in public. He hopes they go back to her house and shut the door to her room closed with vigor as he pushes her onto the bed. If Zayn lets him. Speaking of which...

He approaches Liam's locker cautiously. It's lunch and he hasn't spoken to Liam in months. "Hey Liam. Have you seen Zayn?" 

Liam gives him a smile that makes it seem like they never got out of touch. "Hey Harry! Yeah, I think he's in the art room, working on a project or something." 

Harry values people like Liam, he thinks, as he speeds towards the art classroom. He’s good for Zayn, probably, better than Harry would be, better than Harry is for Waliyha, but that’s another story. Harry thinks about that more often than he should, he’s well aware, that while he’s comparing Waliyha’s lips with the countless other girls he’s kissed, Liam is giving his whole self to Zayn. Zayn is getting a boy who chooses community service over parties, who won’t let his mother make dinner because she works too much, who’s had one love interest his entire life that he won’t even talk about because he fell too hard, too fast, too deep. Harry misses Liam sometimes, but he knows Liam doesn’t agree with his interests, his lifestyle, and that’s okay because friends or not, Liam is still there, spreading his kindness and unconditional love to people like Zayn. 

He opens the door quickly when he gets there-his friends are waiting for him, after all--to find Zayn sitting on a stool near the window of the room, holding a canvas a foot away from his face with a skeptical look on his face. 

“Zayn?” Harry approaches him slowly, afraid he’s disturbing a profound artist moment, because it’s Zayn and of course he would. 

Zayn looks up, startled. “Harry, hey! Quick, should I do white or gray for the background?” He turns the canvas and shows Harry a recently started painting of what Harry thinks (hopes) is a horse. 

“Why don’t you do blue? Like landscape, it could be running on a field or something.” 

“It?” Zayn widens his eyes, a laugh on his lips. “It’s a person, Haz.”

“Oh. Anyway,” Harry clears his throat, “can I take Waliyha out to the movies?”

Zayn looks up at him. “You’re a big boy, Harry. You can do anything you want to do,” he cooes, putting on a motherly smile. 

Harry gives an exaggerated sigh. “I _mean_ , can I like, you know,” he urges with his hands, suddenly not feeling up to saying it out loud to Zayn-Zayn who still calls her _Wali_ and talks about how she was so chubby as a baby and that they would roll blueberries off of her cheeks. “Like...pull some moves and stuff. Not _just_ kiss, you know?”

Zayn looks at him for a few seconds, his face blank, then back down at his canvas. Harry feels dreadful, he shouldn’t have asked--Zayn is clearly uncomfortable. Or maybe he shouldn’t do anything tonight, should wait more, until Zayn is okay with it, but then Zayn makes a small noise in the back of his throat and Harry can’t stop himself from stammering out, “I won’t unless you say it’s okay, I just wanted your approval so you would know and you wouldn’t be mad if something went wrong or anything--not that anything will go wrong, because I definitely won’t do anything unless she’s absolutely willing! I just thought I should tell you because-”

“No,” Zayn interrupts him, “it’s fine, Harry. It’s your relationship, do what you want to with it, just don’t be an ass.” He has a strange look on his face, like he would rather talk about anything else. 

“Oh. Okay.” Harry says. “I’ll...be careful, of course, I always am in situations like these-”

“Don’t need details, Haz,” Zayn mutters, a closed off look on his face. 

“Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

 

● 

 

The date doesn’t go as planned, of course, because Harry’s Harry, and when has anything ever gone as planned for him? He picks Waliyha up at seven, they see a cheesy romance, Harry’s hand on her bare thigh the entire time. He can see her smiling like a schoolgirl, acting her own age, he realizes. It’s not a good movie, at least Harry doesn’t think so--shy boy meets shy girl, falls in love, ends up with her after an hour of rejection. Harry feels for both of them, furrows his eyebrows as Waliyha sighs contentedly next to him, wonders why quiet people have to end up with each other every time, why the shy boy didn’t end up with the shy girl’s bubbly friend, why it always works out that way in movies. 

He drops his head and thinks about him and Waliyha, and about Zayn and Liam, about how both relationships directly align with movie relationship criteria. Waliyha, kind, sweet, clever Waliyha, sits next to him and nearly mirrors his personality, he realizes. Considerate, popular, experienced--is this how it’s supposed to be? Are you supposed to date yourself in a different gender? Or the same gender, in Zayn’s case? What happened to stark contrasts? To excitement?

When he drives Waliyha back home, he doesn’t try to make a move in the car, and when she invites him into her room, he sits on the bed and politely keeps his hands to himself. He can tell she’s confused, impatient even, as to why he’s not doing anything, but he can barely explain it himself--he just doesn’t want to, would rather do anything else than be with a girl whose brother is in the next room. He thinks about Zayn, what he’s doing now. Probably that art project, the one he was doing when Harry him asked if he could somewhat ravish his younger sister, and now he doesn’t even want to. If he’s not working on art he’s probably reading, Harry thinks, that book that he kept putting off but still took everywhere with him. 

Waliyha clears her throat suddenly and Harry starts. She’d been talking about something. Harry hadn’t been listening. 

 

“Anyway,” she says, “it’s getting late. My parents’ll probably want you to go soon. So it doesn’t seem like we’re, you know. Doing anything.”

“Right,” Harry replies. “Yeah, I should get going, anyway. Have to get home before my mom goes to sleep.” She nods awkwardly. 

“I had fun, though. It was a good movie.”

“Yeah.” He leans in to plant a small kiss on her cheek. 

“Bye, Harry.”

“See you soon?”

Waliyha smiles. “We’ll see.”

● 

 

Harry doesn’t think it strange at all to stop by Zayn’s room before he leaves--he by all means has every right to see his friend, regardless of the stability of his relationship with his friend’s sister. 

He opens the door then knocks--he needs to work on that habit, probably. 

“Wali, can you _please_ \--oh. You.”

“Me,” Harry agrees with a grin, plopping down next to Zayn on the bed. He is in fact working on the art project, like Harry knew he would be. 

Zayn narrows his eyes at Harry’s casualness. “So how was stealing my sister’s innocence?”

“Relax, grandpa, we didn’t do anything. At all,” Harry laughs. 

Zayn’s eyebrows raise. “Why not?”

“Didn’t want to,” Harry shrugs. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So, whatcha workin’ on?” He asks, lightening the mood considerably. 

“Art project.”

“What kind?”

“Ophelia,” Zayn replies, shifting his body so Harry can get a better look at the canvas.

“Oh, you have to paint Ophelia?”

“No, the project is called Ophelia. It’s my job to choose and paint someone who I think captures the beauty and grace of Ophelia.”

“Oh, so you’re drawing me,” Harry grins, leans in more, now touching shoulders with Zayn, his body almost pressed against Zayn’s on the small bed. 

“Yeah, you wish," Zayn laughs. "So full of yourself." 

"Hey, c'mon," Harry scoots even closer, bats his eyelashes at Zayn, "look at these eyes." 

"Get away from me." 

"I mean," he leans in even more, "have you ever seen anything so green?"

Zayn snorts but doesn't look up. "Yeah, I once ate a salad and threw up right after." 

"C'mon Zayn," Harry brings his voice up an octave, "look at my gorgeous emeralds!"

Zayn rolls his eyes all the way back into his skull before finally looking up, and Harry realizes the whole thing was a bad idea. They're so close together, Zayn's eyes boring into his with an almost awed expression, far from the jokes he was telling before, and he looks so soft, so delicate, that Harry regrets ever calling him sharp as his hair falls down and hangs loose over his forehead and his entire upper body is engulfed in his hoodie and Harry almost reaches out to touch his face, to hold his jaw in his hand, before he realizes that would definitely be bad so he pulls a funny face instead and Zayn looks away immediately. 

"Yeah," he clears his throat. "Exact same color as my puke that one time."

Harry laughs until Zayn's tells him to shut up, but neither of them moves. After a few minutes, it occurs to Harry that he still doesn't know who Zayn is drawing, so he asks again. 

“My mom,” Zayn replies. Harry tilts his head up to stare at him again, because of course he would choose his mom over any girl in the school, over models and movie stars and singers. The thought takes over his entire body, makes him drop his head onto Zayn’s shoulder, sigh quietly at the rush of emotions that Waliyha can’t seem to make him feel but her brother can. 

“You’re sweet,” he tells Zayn. 

“I’ve been told,” Zayn replies.

Harry rests his chin on Zayn's shoulder and watches him draw until his eyelids droop with sleep. 

 

● 

 

Zayn and Harry spending time together becomes ever more of a regular activity because Waliyha has a volleyball game everyday and an out-of-city tournament every weekend, so Harry can't spark the fire in their relationship if he tries. 

Instead, he spends hours, sometimes days at a time in Zayn's room, much to Zayn's chagrin ("Don't you have your own room? Isn't your house bigger than mine?"), but Harry isn't worried because he knows Zayn loves hanging around Harry as much as Harry loves hanging around him. 

It works out for everybody in the end, because Harry helps Zayn stay motivated for school work and Zayn reminds Harry to find time for creativity and reading and social awareness and both sets of parents are ecstatic that their sons suddenly have 4.0 GPAs and can name artists just by their brush strokes. 

The Maliks invite Anne over to dinner at least once a week, which only gives Harry another excuse to spend time with Zayn, to memorize every detail of his room and to sneak his favorite t-shirts into his backpack and wear them throughout the week. 

He's wearing one now, as he works out in the school gym, Zayn sitting against the wall, watching him with a smirk. 

"Like what you see?" Harry grins and absolutely doesn't flex to show off. 

"Always," Zayn replies, casual as ever. 

"Sure you don't want to join?" Harry presses. 

Zayn laughs, "I told you, physical activity's not my thing." Harry found that hard to believe at first, as he watched Zayn go through pack after pack of Hot Cheetos and not gain an ounce of weight, but he's come to terms with it now. 

"Anyway," Harry puts down his weights, "how are you and Liam?" Of course, with close friendship comes questioning, but Harry finds that Zayn doesn't open up much about his other relationships. It doesn't stop Harry from trying every week, though. 

"Same as we were half a week ago. Fine." 

"Anything interesting that you want to tell me about? Exciting details?" 

Zayn raises his eyebrows. "Nothing that comes to mind." 

Harry has a million questions he would love to ask, like how far they've gone or what kissing another boy feels like, but he doesn't ask. 

Not until later, at least. 

"What does kissing another boy feel like?" He blurts out when they're both on Zayn's bed a few hours later. 

Zayn blinks. "Uh. I mean, it's..." he begins, quietly. "Different. Girls don't have stubble or big hands or rough grips," he adds. 

Harry would like to feel that someday, he thinks, so he can compare it to kissing a girl. 

"So have you always liked boys?"

"Nah, I dated a girl a few years back." 

"Trapped in the closet?" Harry nudges him. 

Zayn laughs. "No, she was beautiful. I loved her." 

He has a dismal look on his face and Harry feels bad. "What happened?" 

"We broke up. Then I found someone else." 

"So you love Liam?" Harry has a bad taste in his mouth. 

"I dunno. I haven't known him very long." 

"Oh." 

"Do you love my sister?" 

"I dunno. I haven't known her very long," Harry mimics, in the exact same tone. 

Zayn snorts. "Shut up." 

● 

Neither of them see the sunlight for about a week after that because of midterms and their college aspirations, but they both stay holed up in Zayn's room, backpacks filled with textbooks for every single subject, sharing notes and flashcards and clothes and coffee mugs. 

Harry is particularly worried about history, Zayn is worried about chemistry . They're both terrified of what's to come for calculus. 

They study until their hands are numb and their heads hurt, until finally, _finally_ , test taking day comes. 

Harry's nervous. Zayn isn't, he sees as he approaches his locker. 

"How are you not pulling your hair out?" 

Zayn ignores the question and looks down, smirking. "Those are the tightest jeans I've ever seen on anyone." Harry flushes. 

"They're my lucky pants," he half mumbles. "Anyway, I've got English first and I don't know if I can do it I seriously-"

"How do you _fit_ anything in them?" Zayn asks incredulously. 

Harry snorts this time. "Are you checking me out?" Zayn finally looks up at him. 

"Anyway," he says, still smiling, "don't worry about it. We studied our hearts out. If you don't know something say my name in your head three times and tap each foot once, I'll appear and give your lucky pants my blessin-"

"Ugh, shut up, I'm leaving." 

"Good luck!" Zayn says, and reaches out to slaps Harry's ass. 

Harry feels his cheeks turn three shades of red darker and looks back at Zayn as he continues to walk away, rolling his eyes. 

"For luck!" Zayn calls out, eyes glinting from meters away. 

● 

By some actual force of good luck, they manage to get an A on every single test, including calculus, which calls for a celebration--Harry insists. 

"Zayn!" He looks up from his phone that Friday. "Josh says he can throw a party tomorrow, and nearly everyone will go, so we can celebrate!" 

Zayn doesn't say anything for a few seconds, then, "Uh, that. I don't know, Haz." 

"What? C'mon, midterms were so hard! You know we deserve it." 

"Yeah, it's not that, just. Parties aren't really my thing. I don't particularly enjoy being around groups of drunk strangers." He mutters. 

"Oh. Oh. Well that's not a problem, then. We'll bring the party to us," Harry says, and he doesn't realize the absurdity of it until after he's said it. Before this year, he'd gone to every party--every single one. Now, he's not sure how many he's missed in face of spending time with Zayn, but he doesn't mind, so he continues, excitement dripping from his voice. 

"Yeah, it's fine! I'll bring a bottle of champagne, maybe two-" Zayn shoots him a look-"one and a half? We don't have to finish them both..."

Zayn has a skeptical look on his face, but Harry reaches out wrap an arm around his shoulder. "It'll be so fun, Zayn! Just you and me, Waliyha will probably be at the party, I'll tell her I can't, and we'll have the whole upstairs to ourselves, maybe even the whole house!" 

A smile creeps onto Zayn's face. "Yeah. Yeah, that won't be too bad. Yeah, let's do that." 

 

● 

 

The next day, harry shows up with a mini bottle of champagne and a bulk bottle of vodka. 

"Vodka? I'm not chugging that without any flavor, Haz." Zayn says. 

"Don't worry, I got you." Harry pulls another bottle out of his bag-margarita mix. 

They make a toast first, to finishing midterms and "fucking acing them all", during which they each have two glasses of champagne, then they play a Harry Potter drinking game. Harry wanted to watch Lord of the Rings, but Zayn made a fair rebuke, reminding Harry that each movie is more or less four hours long, so they start Harry Potter, snacks all around them on Zayn's bed, and take a shot of vodka every time Ron says "bloody hell" or "blimey". (Harry at first wanted to take a shot every time Ron had a bewildered or confused look on his face, but Zayn said they would both die of alcohol poisoning). 

Harry starts laughing uncontrollably after the third shot. Zayn gives him a side eye. 

"Harry, aren't you supposed to be a pro at this?" 

Harry breaks out into another fit of giggles. "No? I don't know. I'm a short weight. What? A short. A light." He rolls over so he's closer to Zayn. "Are you nearly there?" 

"Not at all," Zayn laughs. 

After two more, though, he is. Harry can't stop staring at him, because he's never seen Zayn in any other state than his normal, sober, even-headed state and now he is and it's everything. He's giggling every time Harry Potter is mentioned ("Potter. Does he....does he pot?") and he's missed his mouth the last four times he tried to eat popcorn. 

Harry himself can barely control his limbs, so he can barely get himself to find the touchpad on his laptop to pause the movie. 

"Zayn," he stage whispers, even though they're home alone. 

Zayn turns his head and contains a laugh. "Harry," he says in the same voice. "Why'd you stop watching?" He turns his head and watches the paused screen. Harry nearly falls off the bed with laughter. 

"Let's play a game," he slurs. 

"We are playing a game," Zayn replies, half falling onto Harry. 

"No, I mean. Let's play truth or truth." 

That gets another long giggle out of Zayn. "Truth or truth? Okay." 

"Wait, one more, first." He fills their glasses with vodka and mix once more, nearly spilling it on Zayn's floor, and hands one to Zayn. 

Three stages of drunk ago, Zayn would have politely refused, saying he would like to not wake up in his own vomit, but now, he takes it and downs it before Harry even brings his to his lips. 

"Okay. Okay." Harry moves Zayn onto the bed across from him. "Do you want to start?" 

Zayn nods for about ten seconds. "Yes. Yes I do. Truth or," he starts laughing again, "or truth?" 

"Hmm...," Harry slurs. "I want to do both, it's just so hard to decide." Zayn reaches out to slap him and almost hits his face. 

"Okay. What....what's your favorite Harry Potter movie?" 

"Goblet of Fire." 

"Hey!" Zayn leans in, inches away from Harry's face. "Me too. Your turn." 

Harry has no boundaries. "What does gay sex feel like?" Zayn snorts, tips his head down onto Harry's shoulder and laughs into Harry's neck for what feels like ages. 

"Good," he finally says. "It's good. Feels nice." 

Harry wraps his fingers around Zayn's wrist, where he's put his hand on Harry's shoulder for support. "Yeah? How different is it than sex with a girl?" 

"So different. It's just, everything is hotter and faster and better, and every touch is, like, fire." Harry swallows. He traces Zayn's jaw with his finger like he's wanted to for so long-weeks and weeks-but has known not to. He doesn't have that sense of direction here, now. Zayn closes his eyes, leans into it. 

"You should try it sometime," he murmurs. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." Zayn opens his eyes and looks at Harry and Harry has an overwhelming urge to hug him, and press kisses all over his face and thank him for being such a good friend. His brain is working much too slow to do all of those things, though, so he just hugs him. Zayn laughs into it, hugs back, but Harry holds on for too long and Zayn groans. 

"God, get off me, you giant octopus. Don't know why Waliyha puts up with you." 

"Hey," Harry whines, "there are a lot of reasons. I'm good looking, for one." Zayn snorts. "Two, I'm a good kisser." 

"Doubt it." 

"It's true," Harry widens his eyes, "ask her!" 

"I absolutely will not," Zayn slurs, "ask my sister how her boyfriend kisses." 

"Fine, then," Harry grumbles and surges forward to show Zayn himself. 

When their lips meet, Zayn goes rigid and makes a sound in the back of his throat that Harry should probably take as a sign to stop, but he can't, not when he has to prove to Zayn that he's a good kisser, so he closes his eyes and takes Zayn's face in his hands, rubbing his finger tips into Zayn's scalp and the back of his neck. It's very fast paced after that. Zayn sighs and grabs Harry's arms, pushes him backwards onto the bed so he can straddle him, and if Harry didn’t know he wanted this before, he does now, and tears almost form in his eyes with how good it is. They open their mouths at the same time and when their tongues touch, they both gasp. Zayn almost jerks back, but Harry's afraid that if they stop they won't start again so he keeps his grip tight on Zayn's neck and keeps him there. 

They would have kept kissing for hours, Harry's sure of it, but they don't, because right at that moment, a set of knuckles rap on Zayn's door and they separate so fast that Harrys rolls off the bed and tumbles onto the floor in a mess of limbs. 

"Zayn? Harry?"

"Wala!" Harry exclaims and Zayn facepalms. 

Waliyha narrows her eyes. "Are you guys okay?" 

"Better than ever," Harry slurs. "Missed you," he adds. "How was the party?"

"Good," she says reluctantly. "A lot of people were drinking. I didn't." 

"Yeah, drinking is very very bad," Harry can feel the stupidity oozing out of his mouth but he can't stop. Zayn snorts next to him. 

"Um," Waliyha looks uncomfortable. "Okay. Enjoy your little slumber party." 

"Thanks, babe," Harry says after the door is closed. He turns to look at Zayn. "See? I am a good kisser." 

Zayn doesn't respond, just stares up at the ceiling. 

Harry has a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, all of a sudden. Zayn's not mad, is he? Won't end weeks and weeks worth of friendship over a drunken kiss? 

He rolls onto his side and nudges him. "Zayn?" 

Zayn finally turns his head and looks at Harry. A smile cracks through his face and he starts to laugh. "Yeah, Haz. You are a good kisser." 

 

● 

 

They don't talk about the kiss after that. Harry swears Zayn can't even remember it, he treats Harry so normally the next day and the day after that. Harry barely remembers it himself. He remembers falling off of the bed and telling Waliyha that drinking is bad, but he can't recall why they kissed in the first place, can't seem to figure out why he would kiss his best friend. 

He thought about it for hours the day after it happened, wracked his brain, tried to remember every detail, because he's known for a while that Zayn had soft looking lips and a grabbable jaw, but he never imagined he'd ever kiss them, or grab it. 

They resolved somehow, without words, to never tell Waliyha, or Liam, or anyone for that matter. Harry would have approached Zayn to talk about it, have a heart to heart discussion, but Zayn seemed so nonchalant that Harry wondered if it even happened or if it was all some strange sort of wet dream. It wouldn't be the first time. Either way, they don't talk about it and it's fine--Zayn's not mad or upset and neither is Harry (why should they be?), so life goes on as it did before the kiss happened. Harry still maintains whatever it is he has going on with Waliyha, he still goes over to Zayn's nearly everyday, they talk and work and settle like they always have. If anything, they spend even more time together, which Harry is more than happy with. 

It’s Tuesday after school and they’re in Zayn’s room, on his bed, as they always are. They’ve been have arguing over which Led Zeppelin album is the best--Harry said _In Through The Out Door_ , which sent Zayn on a violent frenzy about how that was the one album that Jimmy Page didn’t participate in because of his drug addiction and “he was the _father_ of Led Zeppelin, how could you like that album the best? There was no rock, no essence of Zeppelin!”, and now they’re lying next to each other, eyes closed, grumbling their favorite songs. 

“Fool In The Rain.” 

“Absolute rubbish. Their poppiest song. Kashmir.”

“Yeah, right. Play that at my screamo-themed funeral. The Battle of Evermore.”

“Yeah, that one’s not bad.”

“Of course it’s not bad. I have a decent taste in music, you know.”

“Course I know. I wouldn’t listen to much Coldplay if it weren’t for you.”

“See? I’ve changed your life for the better.”

“Oh please,” Zayn snorts. “Without me you wouldn’t know a single Frank Ocean song.”

“Frank Ocean isn’t that good,” Harry whines, reluctant to lose.

“Yeah he is.”

“Yeah, he is.”

Zayn laughs. “What would you do without me?”

“Probably sleep on a comfortable bed every night.”

“Hey!” Zayn throws his arm across Harry’s stomach. “My bed is comfortable!”

“Right, tell that to the everlasting kink in my neck.”

Zayn sits up. “Oh, I can fix that. My parents were always going on about how I had magic hands and all that when I was younger.”

Harry grunts. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“No seriously,” Zayn is nudging Harry now, trying to get him on his stomach. “Let me massage you, it’s only fair.”

Harry can feel himself turning red at the idea of Zayn’s hands on him in such an intimate way. “How is it fair?”

“It’s my bed that caused it. C’mon, Haz, let me,” he whines and maybe it’s the pleading in his voice, or perhaps the sincerity in it that has Harry grumbling “this’d better feel like a taste of heaven” and rolling onto his stomach. 

“Shirt off, babe.”

“What?”

“Shirt off. For a better massage.”

“Did you ask your family members to take off their shirts?”

Zayn barks out a laugh. “No, but they didn’t actually, like, need it.”

“Neither do I,” Harry protests.

“Yeah, but like, I want you to get the full...just. _C'mon_ , it'll be good. I swear.”

"Fine, fine, fuel whatever sexual massage fantasy you have," Harry finally grumbles before pulling off his t-shirt. 

He was expecting Zayn’s hands on his neck, of course, but what he wasn’t expecting was Zayn to fully straddle his lower back, so Harry nearly squeaks in surprise but muffles it with the pillow that his face is pressed into. 

“You good?” Zayn asks from above.

Harry nods.

“Okay, just tell me if I’m going too hard or if I need to stop or anything.”

Harry can feel the pillow absorbing the heat that his face is letting out as he tries to ignore the sexual connotation behind that. _Is he doing it on purpose?_ No, he can’t be. Zayn is never aware of anything, so of course he must not know that Harry’s blushing and squirming as he finally kneads his hands into his neck and- _oh_. 

Harry doesn’t know what he envisioned happening, but this definitely isn’t it. Zayn’s hands are so gentle--gentler than he’s ever felt before, as they rub his neck, massaging out the cricks. They knead into his back, the base of his skull, up and down his spine. Harry can hear himself sighing over and over again, his breathing starting to shallow. He hopes Zayn doesn’t mind, but he wouldn’t be surprised, because Harry himself is mortified with the way his body is reacting to Zayn. Maybe Zayn can feel it because his hands become even lighter and he spends more time above Harry’s neck, threading his fingers through Harry’s hair every now and then and maybe it’s the softness of Zayn’s touch, or the sincerity behind it but suddenly he can feel his jeans becoming tighter as his cock fills up and _fuck_. 

It’s fine, this is fine, right? Just the body’s natural reaction? He squirms around a bit on the bed, hoping to calm himself, or maybe to get a little friction, but Zayn notices and

“You good?”

“I’m great,” Harry mumbles into the pillow, which naturally comes out as “‘m gren”.

Apparently Zayn can’t figure it out on his own, though, because he leans over so that his chest is pressed to Harry’s back and his mouth is centimeters away from Harry’s ear and he’s breathing on his cheek and _shit_ , Harry thinks, _this is very, very bad_. 

“What’s that?”

Harry lifts his head off the pillow for a few seconds to say “I’m good. You’re good,” but Zayn doesn’t move off of him, just chuckles and replies “thanks, babe,” which makes Harry’s situation even worse, almost unbearable now. Harry squirms around on the bed some more and he thinks he feels Zayn’s breathing shallow a bit on his cheek, then finally, Zayn takes one deep breath and brushes his lips against Harry’s cheek, holding them there just briefly (and Harry’s heart soars like it did when Zayn's lips were on his own), before sliding off, and Harry’s face burns through the pillow like molten lava. 

“Better?” Zayn asks a few moments later, voice as soft and hoarse as Harry’s must be.

Harry turns his head so he doesn’t speak into the pillow anymore. “Yeah, much. Thanks.”

Zayn plops down next to him. “Magic hands, yeah? My grandparents used to offer money for my massages when I was like, nine years old. It’s my legacy.”

Harry chuckles, mutters “don’t flatter yourself,” in a way that requires absolutely no body movement because he’s all too aware of the fact that moving his hips would result in instant death by embarrassment and he can’t do that to himself, or to Zayn, for that matter. 

And it’s worse than just a hard-on, because there’s a fluttering in his stomach and a pounding in his ears and he actually feels a bit dizzy and he wants to rewind to weeks ago, to Zayn slapping his butt when he wore tight jeans and him laughing lightheartedly, before anything had any meaning. 

“Seriously, are you okay?” Zayn asks after a minute, no doubt noticing Harry’s immobility. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m great," he says, voice firmer, moving his hands under his cheek. "You actually aren’t too bad. ‘M just tired.” 

“Oh,” Zayn chuckles. “Yeah, it has that effect. It’s fine, you’re spending the night, right?” Harry doesn’t think he should anymore. 

“Uh,” his voice comes out three octaves higher than he expected. “I mean, I should actually go home. My mom probably misses me, and all.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Yeah, after calling her three times today, I’m sure she’s dying to see you. C’mon, you’re completely knackered, it’s fine.” 

 

Harry would further protest, he’s sure, if he could stand without showing that he’s sporting a boner the size of Zayn’s bedroom, so with a reluctant sigh, he nods and says, “yeah, fine, but if you snore again I won’t hold back from slapping you awake.”

Zayn laughs and smiles big and playful. “Ha, yeah alright Myrtle, dear. Lemme just get you a change of clothes,” he says, before digging into his dresser for a Stone Roses t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. They're familiar to Harry-he's seen them on Zayn so often. The thought makes him shiver as Zayn tosses them to Harry. Harry almost asks to go to the bathroom to change, he’s so embarrassed, but he realizes how strange that would sound to Zayn, who he’s paraded around nearly naked before, so he half turns his body away from Zayn and steps behind the bed as he fumbles with the clothes. It’s a tedious process, accidentally brushing his aching dick every couple of seconds and inhaling sharply, but he gets the clothes on and lays down on the bed on his stomach. 

He almost gets up to go to the bathroom for a toss, but then Zayn falls down onto the bed next to him and turns on his side so he’s facing Harry. _Oh god. I’m gonna get blue balls_ , a voice in his head says, and he covers his face, feeling like he’s in middle school again. 

“So,” Zayn begins, wiggling his eyebrows. “Pillow talk? How’s your sex life?” Harry’s glad Zayn didn’t mention Waliyha because that would be too much. 

“How’s yours?” He shoots back before his sirens start to go off in his head. He doesn’t want to know. 

Zayn laughs. “What, with Liam? I dunno. Okay, I guess. He’s so dull sometimes though. Like the sex is great, but sometimes I want to talk about something I heard about on the news and he looks at me like suddenly I’m a middle-aged white man in a turtleneck. Like Ross Geller at the age of sixty, or something.”

“You can pull off a turtleneck,” Harry says idly. 

“And I guess he just makes me realize that like, in the future, when I’m looking for something serious, I want the person to be educated, and aware and all that,” Zayn continues. 

_I’m educated_ , Harry almost says out loud. Is he sick? What’s wrong with him? Maybe he’s having withdrawal--he hasn’t seen Waliyha in a while…

“Yeah, that’s reasonable,” he says instead. 

Zayn’s eyelids are starting to droop. He scoots closer to Harry so he doesn’t have to speak as loudly. “What about you? What’ll you look for in a future partner?” 

Harry considers this for a moment, before putting on his best stoner voice and saying “I live in the moment,” quoting Ted from the last _How I Met Your Mother_ episode they watched together. Zayn laughs and nudges him. “Seriously though.”

Harry sighs. “Seriously....I just want someone who’s already my friend. Because, like. Isn’t a romantic partner just a friend but on a deeper level? Like a friend with extra toppings of sexual and romantic attraction?”

Zayn is quiet for such a long time that Harry actually thinks he’s fallen asleep before he finally speaks, eyes closed. “Yeah, you’re right, H,” voice soft and sleepy. He scoots a fraction of an inch closer, hand reaching out, finger barely touching Harry’s thigh, and falls asleep. 

He doesn’t actually fall asleep. Harry knows because they’ve talked about their sleeping habits, so Harry knows perfectly well that Zayn can’t fall asleep before at least two hours of trying. Zayn’s breathing isn’t even consistent--for the most part coming out in short little puffs, other times in long, delayed ones. Harry’s too tired to piece together why Zayn would try to fall asleep at the early hours of 10 pm when he usually starts his homework at 11:30, but he’s too tired to ask, so closes his eyes and submits to the slumber himself. 

 

● 

 

He keeps telling himself it’s fine, because they’re completely normal after the kiss that they’ve not uttered one word about. Nothing's wrong, and nothing is wrong. 

Except for when it is. 

Waliyha has yet another game tonight and Harry and Zayn have split three large pizzas in the past week, so he figures he'll work out at the school gym. He's been putting on a little weight on his hips (that Zayn loves to pinch when Harry's changing) and it contrasts with his popular boy image, so he goes to the gym, only to find Zayn, sitting on a stationary bike, reading a book. 

He laughs out loud when he enters because it's such a contrast--Zayn working out. Zayn most definitely is not working out, though. He's reading _Wuthering Heights_ and his glasses are perched low on his nose and he's hidden in his hoodie and he jumps at Harry's arrival, then gives a tentative smile. 

"Hey," he offers, his lips twisting into a smirk. 

"Hey," Harry replies. "It's late, are you stuck here or something? Do you have a ride home?"

"Yeah, Liam's taking me home. I'm just waiting for him to finish his club meeting." 

Harry's hand is still on the door. "Are you sure? I can take you home now and you wouldn't have to wait, it's no big deal. Just text him." 

"No, no." Zayn shakes his head, looking firmly set. "It's fine. Plus I want to spend more time with Liam, yeah?" 

Harry nods, but feels far from understanding. He no longer wants to work out--he wants to sit and savor everything that Zayn gives him--that Zayn lets him have. Harry wonders if Zayn treats Liam the same way he treats Harry, or if he gives him even more--even more soft smiles and pats on the back and pinches on the butt. Harry feels strange thinking about it (though admittedly, he's been thinking about it all week, since he asked Zayn about it the night of...). 

"Yeah, okay. I'm still coming over Saturday though, right?"

"Yeah, of course. I’ll see you then, yeah?" He says as Harry walks out of the gym. 

 

● 

 

Harry didn’t see him on Saturday, because early in the morning, Zayn called him to cancel on short notice, rambling on about how Liam asked him on a date at the last minute and “you don’t mind, right? It’s just that I’ve been waiting so long, you understand, right? Like when Waliyha finally went out with you!”, muttering out apologies in between every sentence. 

Harry wasn’t devastated, but he--he’d wanted to see Zayn. 

Now, hours later, he stares down at his phone, at the message that Zayn sent him. 

**Zayn: 3:17pm** _hey you can come over now if you want._

Harry doesn't reply. He's angry, he knows he shouldn't be, because he has no reason to. Zayn's liked Liam for some time now, and Harry had a terrific time taking Waliyha out to this little cupcake shop he found with his mom last weekend instead, it's just upsetting, is all, that Zayn has clear priorities and they aren't Harry. Not that they should be. 

**Zayn: 3:21pm** _haz?_

**Zayn: 3:22pm** _Harry_

**Harry: 3:24pm** _what_

 **Zayn: 3:24pm** _what_

**Zayn: 3:24pm** _are you still coming? you can._

**Zayn: 3:25pm** _you should._

There's a heavyweight in Harry's stomach, and suddenly he feels like crying. There's no definite reason to be friends with Zayn, he realizes. It doesn't enhance his relationship with Waliyha, nor has it increased his time spent with her. He only became friends with Zayn to gain better access into Waliyha's life, but he certainly took a different turn after spending time with Zayn. 

Either way, he hasn't been as good to Waliyha as he should have been with all the effort he put into their relationship in the beginning. He still doesn't know whether or not they're in a relationship. 

He doesn't reply. 

**Zayn: 3:31pm** _or I could come? What's your address?_

**Zayn: 3:33pm** _ok…_

 **Zayn: 3:21pm** _is something wrong?_

Half an hour later, after he's typed out and deleted twenty different responses, there's a knocking (or rather, pounding) at the door, which, _what_? He knows who it is before he opens the door and he figures that should stop him from opening it but he also figures that the knocking won’t stop unless he lets Zayn in, so he reluctantly opens it to reveal a flustered Zayn.

“Are you mad at me?” Is the first thing he asks. Harry blinks. 

“No.”

“Ok,” Zayn narrows his eyes and leans sideways to look past Harry’s shoulder. “Did your phone die?”

“How did you get here?” Harry’s voice is cold and cutting.

“I asked Liam for directions. Is something wrong?” Zayn looks panicked, worried. 

“No. Why would anything be wrong?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”

“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me,” Harry mutters. “Why are you here?”

Zayn tilts his head to the side, furrows his eyebrows. “I don’t know. I wanted to see you. I felt bad about cancelling on you on such short notice, so I guess I’m here to apologize.”

“Hm. How was your date?” Harry blocks the entrance with his body, still not letting Zayn in. 

“Oh, it was fine. Nothing special or anything.”

“Special enough to cancel on me…” Harry says in an almost singsong voice. 

Zayn blinks. “What? Is that why you’re mad? Because I cancelled on you? Why does that matter?”

“Because!” Harry snaps. “Because since when do you put dates with love interests before hanging out with friends?” He sounds petulant and winy, completely vulnerable now. 

Zayn’s entire face closes off. “Since when are we even friends? Last I checked I was just helping you win over my sister, but that’s not progressing, not even with all the advice I’ve given you.”

Harry’s jaw drops to the floor, it’s such a ridiculous statement. “Advice? What advice? We haven’t talked about Waliyha in weeks!”

“Then why do you keep coming over?” Zayn shoots, looking furious now. 

“Because we’re friends, Zayn! Is this a new concept to you?”

“Oh, hop off your high horse, Harry. You’re not the first friend I’ve had.”

“That’s surprising, seeing as I’m the only one who puts up with your shit,” Harry retorts. 

“Ha!” Zayn actually laughs, cold and cruel. “If that’s true then why do I always choose Liam’s company over yours?”

Harry can’t even speak, it hurts so much. He never thought Zayn would say something like that to him, not after…

“Fine, then,” he replies, furiously blinking back tears, not letting Zayn see anything. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone if I’m such a bother.”

“Perfect, thanks!” Zayn twists his face into an achingly artificial smile. “Good luck with Waliyha without my help,” he calls out after he’s turned around to leave. 

It’s not until Harry’s slammed the door behind him that he hears himself say, “I don’t even want her anymore.”


	3. Part III

They avoid each other acutely. It goes on for weeks. Harry doesn’t know how Zayn does it so well, because he hasn’t seen him at all, not even awkward glances or bumps in the hallway. It’s as though he’s disappeared off the face of the planet, and for a minute Harry asks himself it it was all real or if his girlfriend’s devastatingly attractive brother ever even existed. It’s not as though Harry is making a conscious effort to reassure himself, though, because he’s cut off all direct contact with Waliyha’s family, only ever speaking with them on the phone because of “just so much homework, you wouldn’t believe it. I would come over for dinner really, but suddenly senior year is out to get me”. Waliyha doesn’t question it. She never has, Harry realizes, despite her usual wit. 

His relationship with her is as fine, as standard as ever. They still go out on dates from time to time, and kiss. Harry enjoys her company, he really does, it’s just that sometimes when he looks at her he sees Zayn’s eyes and gentle hairline and soft mouth and it hurts too much, so he often finds himself making excuse to get out of spending time with her. She never seems upset about it; she always says “It’s okay, Harry. Next time.” She only ever calls him Harry. He misses his nickname. 

When they are together, they never talk about Zayn, much to Harry’s delight, and at some point Harry becomes completely aware that Waliyha knows about everything, everything that he’s feeling, but just hasn’t chosen to speak out about it. She really is smarter than people give her credit for. 

Liam has started hanging out with Niall, Louis, and Josh. He sits with them at lunch, laughs, and talks with them. Harry listens but doesn’t say much. He keeps his head down and eats, occasionally offering a smile or a chuckle. One day, when Niall asks where Zayn is, Harry can’t help the way he immediately looks up to Liam. Liam doesn’t falter. “He’s got a huge art project he’s working on. Spends most lunches in the art room.” Harry looks back down. That’s probably not true. Zayn’s probably just avoiding him.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you with Waliyha recently,” Niall says one day.

“What do you mean? We hang out a lot.”

“No, you haven’t, because I’ve been with her,” Niall says. Harry looks at him. “Volleyball practice ends when soccer does. We talk sometimes. She says you’re distant.” Harry didn’t even know volleyball season was over. 

“I’ve had a lot going on,” Harry admits. 

Niall nods. “She’s there for you, man. More than you know.” Harry does know, that Waliyha is more his friend now than a romantic partner, he just doesn’t know how to approach her, if she would be accepting or embarrassed or disappointed or angry. He doesn’t even know his own feelings, to begin with, so how could he talk to her about them?

Turns out he doesn’t have to approach her, because she approaches him. As predicted, the doorbell rings one lonely Friday after school. It’s Waliyha. 

“Can I come in?” She looks nice. Simple. Wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. Harry would have drooled over this look at the beginning of the semester. 

“Of course.”

“You have a nice house,” she comments.

“Yeah you—you haven’t been here before, have you?” Waliyah nods and Harry feels guilty. He never deserved her, but he’s been particularly terrible lately. 

“Can I get you something to drink? Or to eat?”

“No, I’m okay. Can we go to your room?” She looks at him like she has something on the tip of her tongue, begging to leave her lips, that she has to scream at him. 

He hesitates. “Okay.”

They go to his room. Waliyah looks around for a moment, a small smile on her face, and sits down on Harry’s bed.

“You and Zayn have been acting weird lately,” she says shamelessly.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Harry, I know we’ve got a weird thing going on, but to a certain extent I know you. And I know something’s up. I also know it has to do with Zayn, because he’s been acting weird too.”

“How?” Harry can’t help but ask.

“He’s not talking. He leaves the room when someone brings you up. I know things have been weird between him and Liam, too. That’s why Liam’s been hanging out with your group, recently—he’s trying to see if there’s something going on between you and Zayn.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Liam even came to me about it. Wanted to know if I knew something about you and Zayn.”

“Well, I mean...there’s nothing going on. Obviously. We were friends, I think, and then we weren’t. We just don’t get along I guess.”

Waliyah smiles and stands. “Harry, babe, if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that we never know what we want. And when we do know, wanting is never enough. I’ll see you around, okay? Let’s not lose touch.”

“Wait, are you breaking up with me?” He doesn’t even understand what she’s saying, she’s being so indirect. 

Waliyah laughs a little. “I want to thank you, Harry. I went through shit before I came here, and you’ve been so good to me. Thank you, really. You’re my friend, and I want you to know I’ll always be there for you, too.” _What?_

“Wait, what?” Harry is confused. 

“Silly boy,” Waliyah says, and stands on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. She leaves without another word.

_What?_

 

● 

 

When the realization dawns on him, Harry most certainly does not feel the way the movies depict. He does not feel happy-go-lucky, or lighter than air. He suddenly feels weighted with all the moments between him and Zayn that were so clearly not platonic that he didn’t even notice. 

It’s a huge burden, being in love, because now every time he hears Zayn’s name he blushes profusely red, and he adjusts all of his routes to class so that they all pass the art classroom, and he tries to find Zayn every day at his locker, but Zayn very well may have moved to a different school because he is nowhere to be seen. 

Most of all, though, Harry feels sad. Sad that Zayn’s angry with him, and sad that he fucked things up, and sad that Zayn didn’t consider him a friend, and overall drowsy with all the despondency he feels when he thinks about Zayn (which seems to be every minute of everyday, now), and it’s exhausting. 

Unsurprisingly, he goes to his mom. He tells her that he’s absolutely in love with someone unexpected (“like, head over heels, blushing all day, in _love_ ”) and doesn’t know what to do because the person is avoiding him. Anne, by some maternal logic that Harry will never understand, already knows who he’s talking about. 

She smiles sweetly. “Well from what I’ve heard, love, Zayn feels the same way.”

“Zayn?!” Harry sputters, lips working to come up with something else to say. He can’t, so he just repeats “Zayn?!”

Anne tilts her head back to laugh and ruffles his hair affectionately. “Of course Zayn. The boy spent so much time with you he can’t not love you. Just tell him how you feel and it’ll all work out in the end.”

Harry calls Josh, because from past experience, there’s nothing a party can’t fix. 

“What’s up, man?”

“Can you do me a favor?” Harry asks.

“Depends. What do you want?”

“I need you to throw a party.”

Josh was going to throw one anyway. 

 

● 

 

At school, Harry feels lighter than air, thanks to Anne’s advice. He can’t stop smiling all day. Zayn feels the same way, he must. He can’t not. 

And then, he sees Zayn for what must be the first time in forever. With Liam.

“Hey, Liam,” Harry approaches them with a smile. “You going to Josh’s party this Friday?” He completely ignores Zayn because he is an idiot and can’t think of anything to say. 

Liam smiles. “Yeah, we’ll definitely be there.”

Harry feels his jaw clench a bit at the word we. He quickly glances at Zayn who’s staring at the floor. “Great. I’ll see you there.”

Harry’s buzzing with excitement, absolutely positive that this party will be it for him, that he’ll prove to Zayn that he’s enough, that he’s better for him than Liam is. 

 

● 

 

Harry pushes back his curls into somewhat of a quiff, although his hair has gotten much too long to be gelled up like he used to do before. He wears a blue button down with white hearts on it, jeans, and his boots.

“Don’t break too many hearts tonight,” Anne says before he leaves. 

Harry smiles. He thinks to himself, the only heart that could possibly break tonight is his own.

He gets to the party, walking in with his usual swagger. As always, he knows he looks good, he knows people are staring, he knows he can get anyone in the room. He only wants one person, though. 

Harry goes to socialize, greets his friends to stall first, because he feels like a middle schooler with a crush and he needs time to gather up the courage to tell his best friend that he’s the prettiest boy in the whole sixth grade. After a while of his friends boring him, he pours himself some punch, tries to loosen up, because he’s been here for nearly an hour and he hasn’t seen Zayn or Liam. 

After walking around the entire downstairs nonchalantly looking for Liam and Zayn, Harry goes to the kitchen for a refill where hears giggling and whispering.  
It’s Waliyha, leaning against the counter with Niall, a prominent red blush on her cheeks and Niall whispering into her ear. Waliyha spots Harry.

“Harry,” she says. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he smiles. And to assure her that it’s all okay, he steps forward and hugs her. “Congrats on the win yesterday on your final game. I heard you scored the winning point.”

“She did,” Niall says. “It was amazing.”

Harry pats his friend on the shoulder. “You take care of her, Ni. She’s a keeper.”

“I know,” Niall says, pecking her on the temple.

Waliyha giggles. “Now go, Harry, and get my brother already.”

Harry wishes he could. 

 

● 

 

Because he’s had the worst luck in the world for the past few weeks, Harry walks in on Zayn and Liam in a room alone together, sitting close to each other. The door is wide open and he’d been checking all the empty bedrooms in hopes of finding Zayn, just not like this. They don’t notice him, just continue interacting as Harry quietly slips out and presses his back against the adjacent wall. 

He peeks through. Zayn looks very uncomfortable. Liam’s hand is on his thigh. “But babe, I thought everything was fine.” It’s the first time Harry’s heard Liam sound so upset. 

Zayn scratches the back of his neck, trying to subtly distance himself from Liam. “I dunno, there’s just been a lot going on.”

Liam leans in and tries to kiss him, which Harry almost takes as an invitation to burst in and push him away, but Zayn swerves. “I just don’t see this going anywhere, Liam. I’m sorry,” he nearly whispers, unable to make eye contact. Liam doesn’t reply, just keeps staring at Zayn, but Zayn’s finished. Harry quickly hides and watches Zayn go to the balcony for a smoke. He figures he can’t possibly make things worse, so he follows him. 

Zay turns around and sees Harry, an emotionless expression on his face when he turns back around like he’s not in the mood.

“Hey,” Harry says. No response. He’s starting to doubt himself. “You alright?”

Zayn laughs bitterly. “I’ve been better. You?”

“I’ve been better too.”

“So my sister dumped you,” Zayn notes.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “And you dumped Liam.”

They look at each other finally and Zayn’s gaze makes Harry feel like an ice cube in a boiling pot of water. 

“What’s your point?” Zayn asks.

Harry shrugs. “Nothing. Just seems kinda convenient.”

Zayn shakes his head and looks to be fighting a smile. “Of course you’d see my breakup as an alignment of the stars.”

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just—I mean—like, you felt it too, right?”

“Felt, what, Harry?”

“Felt...feelings!” Harry blurts out, exasperated.

Zayn narrows his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Zayn, you can’t tell me you didn’t feel..Zayn, I know-”

Zayn clearly has had enough. “This isn’t a joke, Harry. Both of us just got out of relationships. Well, I got out of a relationship. You just got out of fucking with my sister.”

“Are we really going back to that?” Harry doesn’t want to fight. He’s so tired of being far away from Zayn. Even now, he wishes he didn’t have to explain everything--wishes he could just jump into Zayn’s arms and kiss all over his face. “She broke up with me because she knew I wanted someone else.” 

“Who then, Harry?” he’s mad and offended.

“You!” It comes out more of a gasp than an exclamation. 

Zayn doesn’t speak for several moments, then, “W—you—what?”

“I-I mean it. I mean? At first it was Waliyha, and then it was you.”

Zayn’s face changes entirely, seeming to age ten years, and Harry can see his frown lines, the creases around his eyes as he chokes out, “you have no right to do this to me,” and storms back inside. 

Harry's too dumbstruck to follow him. _Do what?_ he wonders. When his legs finally start working again, he knows Zayn's gone. He shouldn't have asked Josh to throw a party, shouldn't have expected Zayn to come, now that he thinks about it. Parties only make Zayn feel uncomfortable, and _fuck_ , he's a terrible friend. 

He goes to Zayn's for the first time in weeks. Thank god Zayn doesn't have a peep hole, because he wouldn't have even opened the door if he'd seen Harry on the other side. He tries to push it closed immediately once he sees Harry, but Harry extends his hand to keep it open. 

"Do what? What are you talking about?" He asks. 

Zayn sighs. "Just go away, Harry." 

"No," Harry stands his ground. "Tell me what's going on, Zayn." 

"I just..." Zayn bites his lip, looking more worried than angry for a split second before his voice goes rough again. "I wasn't even obvious about it. It's not like I ever tried to cuddle you or anything. I mean, this has happened before, where I've fallen for straight guys and I let them know and we stop being friends because of the usual 'no homo , man', but no one's ever mocked me for it! Why are you doing this? What've I done to make you despise me so much?" 

Tears prickle in Harry's eyes and he can barely speak. He doesn't know why Zayn feels so doubtful, so insecure (they'll have to work on that, he resolves), but it barely matters at the moment because Zayn fell for him. "No, Zayn, I mean it. I honestly-I. I-I feel it everyday, all the time. And it took me so long to realize but it's been there for weeks, I was just being stupid by still dating Waliyha!" He reaches out to hold both sides of Zayn's face before he can turn away. Zayn looks up at him with hopeful eyes, and Harry can't remember what life was like before wanting just that. 

"I mean it," he reassures, but Zayn still has inklings of doubt, he knows. He wishes he could just surge forward and kiss him like in the movies, but he's been in that position and he knows he doesn't want to force anything onto Zayn. "I swear, for weeks! It was so confusing, Zayn! Suddenly Waliyha didn't do anything to me and I wanted to see you all the time and remember we kissed that one time when we were drunk? That was probably the best kiss of my life and-" 

Zayn kisses him. 

It’s everything that their one other kiss was, but better, and harder, and sober. Zayn grabs his face and quiets him with a kiss before Harry can embarrass himself any further, and they both gasp at the contact. It’s like Harry’s body finally relaxes, finally untenses, because his shoulders slump and he groans and he’s pulling Zayn impossibl y closer to him and it feels so intense, like every nerve ending in his body is on fire. 

Zayn’s hands are in Harry’s hair as he pulls him into the house and up the stairs to his room, where he presses Harry against the door. 

He stops kissing Harry and pulls back a few inches, looking unsure. “Are you sure?”

Harry nearly breaks his neck nodding so vigorously. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m sure. I’ve been sure.”

“And you want to do this?”

“Yeah. Yes. I do. God, Zayn, I love you, I want to do this, I want-” Zayn shuts him up with another kiss, this one softer, mumbling “me too, me too,” into it. Harry likes everything right now, feels in love with the whole world, but he particularly likes this--this softer, vulnerable Zayn, whose emotions are practically pouring out of him and into Harry. He presses a kiss to Harry’s neck and leads him into the room, where he pushes him onto the bed and climbs onto his lap, kissing his cheek over and over again.

“Wait, wait,” Harry pants, “so you fell for me?" He smirks. 

Zayn laughs, hands roaming underneath Harry's shirt. "Yeah, it surprised me too."

"Hey!" Harry pouts and Zayn smiles at him, puts his hands on his face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs, and kisses his chin. 

"Kidding," Zayn whispers against his neck moments later and tugs Harry's shirt off in one swift motion. Harry feels his face go red and he's so happy in this moment, this moment of bliss with Zayn, so he acts immediately and pulls Zayn back up for another kiss, tasting around the inside of his mouth. The kiss is as good as any kiss with Zayn is, but Zayn pulls away quickly, instead mouthing along Harry's chest. 

"Wait, come back," Harry whines. "You're not even undressed. This isn't fair." Zayn snorts but pulls his own Pink Floyd shirt and black jeans off, then lunges at Harry's chest again, pressing a wet kiss to the dip between his collar bones. 

"Better?" Harry nods, feeling flustered all over. 

"Let's get you out of these, yeah?" Harry nods again as Zayn unzips his jeans, which admittedly take longer to take off than to put on, which has them both laughing by the time they're off, but then they're kissing again, soft and sweet. 

"I’ve never done this before," Harry whispers. "Not with a boy." Zayn stops in his tracks, hands tentative on Harry's thighs. 

"You okay?" He asks. 

"Yeah, yeah, Zayn. I want this, I swear. I've wanted this. With you." He looks so hopeful, so eager to learn, that Zayn can't help but lean in and kiss his lips softly just once, and then his cheeks, and his eyebrows. 

"Okay, okay. Can I touch you?" 

Harry lets out a shuddery exhale and nods quickly. Zayn pulls his briefs down to his thighs and grips him slowly, tentatively. Harry's unbearably hard already, leaking at the tip, and panting short little breaths as Zayn strokes him. He feels sensitive everywhere--his cock, his face, his thighs where Zayn is straddling them, and he knows he's already close (to be honest, he's been close since he first saw Zayn in a sleeveless shirt, but...), so he pulls Zayn closer and pants "want to touch you, Z. Want to feel you," and Zayn absolutely groans. 

"I'm gonna-" Zayn pushes his own briefs down and wiggles even closer to Harry, their cocks almost touching. "-is this okay?" 

"Yeah, Zayn. Fuck, it's-" what it is, Harry himself doesn't know because he gasps so loudly when Zayn aligns their cocks and strokes them together that he probably loses brain cells. Zayn pants against Harry's cheek, left hand in Harry's hair while his right strokes them both and they're heaving against each other. Harry doesn't last long, coming right as Zayn says "c'mon, babe. I've got you," warm and wet over both of them, which makes Zayn come as well, and at the end of it they're slumped over one another, satiated. 

Harry brings his hand up to caress Zayn's face on his chest, eyes closed, and tries to even out his breathing. "We're doing that again." 

Zayn laughs softly, doesn't even try to be sarcastic, just kisses Harry's chest - over his heart - and says "definitely". 

"All of it, I mean," Harry adds quietly. 

"All of it." 

 

● 

 

_Three months later_

“I’m so excited!” Eleanor squeals. Louis takes her bag, kissing her on the cheek, and tosses it into the trunk of the van where Waliyha and Niall are making fun of a cheesy magazine article. “We all are, babe.” He's still a little irritated from the argument he had with Josh a few minutes ago, over who would drive, before Josh realized he'd lost his license. 

Harry turns to Zayn. “You excited?”

“To go on a road trip with my best friends? Absolutely.” He brings his hand up to play with a strand of Harry's hair absentmindedly. "And my favorite boyfriend," he cooes into Harry's jaw, and Harry bats him away, blushing like a middle schooler. "Your _only_ boyfriend," he retorts. Zayn grabs his hand and brings it to his mouth, giggling as he kisses Harry's fingers. "I hope so too but good luck explaining that to Corbin..." and Harry hates this about Zayn--how he can make him feel young and old and brave and scared and silly and serious all at once. "Oh shut up, you." 

“Don’t forget about your favorite little sister,” Waliyha reminds him, hand in hand with Niall.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Amazing.”

Harry chuckles as he and Zayn climb into the back, smiles grande and vibrant on their faces. 

 

● 

 

 _A year later_

_Dear Anne,_

_Hello! Harry's recently informed me that Peter answered one of your calls while we were supposedly sleeping, so I'd like to apologize on behalf of him; he's...an interesting character, a questionable friend, and a terrible roommate. Anyway, I'd also like to apologize for not writing in so long; finals were brutal, but we managed. (Not together of course, because Harry can help me with literature about as much as I can help him with economics (0%))._

_Harry is doing very well though, he absolutely loves the atmosphere here at UPenn, as well as his teachers and classes. I'm glad he's found his "thing " (actually, despite what he thinks about just having discovered it, I know for a fact that he's been talking about capitalism and marginalism and whatnot since before we even met, he just didn't realize) and I look forward to staying by his side as he becomes the next biggest business owner. (Or the next wolf of wall street. Fingers crossed for the latter.)_

_We're great, too! He finally convinced me that quinoa is a better alternative to ramen, which he claims to owe to you, so I should thank you for adding about ten years to my lifespan. (Not that he would let me die without injecting raw kale into my bloodstream. Really, how did you get him to like so many vegetables? Where did my own mother fail?)_

_Also, Harry had some poor strangers take a million pictures of us at The Friendly Artisan when we were celebrating our anniversary and he insisted that I send them to you, even though my eyes are closed in about half of them, so I hope you enjoy these:_

_zaynsfieryquiff.jpeg_

_bothofoureyesareclosed.jpeg_

_zaynandmeeeee.jpeg_

_zaynandmeFAVORITE.jpeg_

_realcaviar.jpeg_

_thedessertwasonFIRE.jpeg_

_Hope all is well with you, we miss you loads!_

_All my love, and of course Harry's too,_

_Zayn_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who stuck with me through the entire thing. This is my first serious fic and I hope you all enjoy it (I hope it wasn't too obvious that I'm a novice). It was an absolute joy writing this and special thanks to my beta and my Marauders (and Reba).  
> Feel free to leave feedback in the comments.


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